The Line
by Rathead
Summary: Set when they are kids. Status: End of the Line. Complete.
1. Default Chapter

"Scott!"

            His father's voice pulled Scott from a run into a skid.  He regained his balance and turned to balance on the threshold of his father's study.  None of them were allowed inside.  

            "Yes, Father?"

            His father looked up from the papers on his desk.  "I have a visitor coming today."

            Scott nodded.  "All right."

            "He and I have some very important matters to discuss.  He'll be here at eleven hundred hours.  You are in charge of getting your brothers down here at that time to meet him.  You are also in charge of making sure that nothing happens to distract me from my meeting with him.  If I have to come out there to settle any arguments, break up any fights, or get Gordon down from the tree house, I will hold you responsible.  Is that understood, Scott?"

            "Yes, Father," Scott said.

            "Good boy."  His father returned to his papers.  Scott stared at him for a minute, then continued on his way.

            He found his fourteen year-old brother in the kitchen, rummaging into a box of crackers.

            "Dad's got someone coming here."

            Virgil shoved a cracker into his mouth.  "So?"

            "So we have to do the line when he shows up."  Scott grabbed  a cracker from the box.  

            "What time?" John asked, wandering in.  Scott turned around.

            "I was looking for you," he said.  "I thought you wanted to go up to Kelsey Point."

            "I do," John said.  "What's this about the line?"

            "Some person of Dad's," Virgil said indistinctly, through more crackers.

            "Eleven hundred hours," Scott said.

            "I don't understand why Dad can't just use normal time like a normal person," John muttered, drifting out of the kitchen again.  Scott heard the backdoor slam.  

            "You and John are going to Kelsey Point?" Virgil asked.

            "Yes, and you can't come." Scott said automatically.  He glanced at Virgil out of the corner of his eye to see what reaction this would get, but Virgil only shrugged.  "There's nothing at Kelsey Point anyway except about eight million chipmunks."

            Scott smiled broadly at Virgil, raised his eyebrows, and headed outside.

            "What?" Virgil asked.  "Scott! What's at Kelsey Point!"  He burst through the screen door into the hot July morning.   Scott was standing on the old tire swing that hung off the limb of a large tree that shaded the back of the house.  

            "Nothing's at Kelsey Point, Virg." Scott laughed at him.  "You said yourself."

            "Just eight million chipmunks."  John's voice came floating down from above them.  Virgil turned around and could just see the tip of his older brother's sneaker poking out from the edge of the roof.

            "Dad's gonna kill you if he sees you up there," Virgil told him.

            "He's not going to see me," John said confidently.

            Scott watched John unfold and lie down on his stomach,  hanging his head over the edge of the roof so he could make faces at Virgil.  None of them had ever been able to figure out how John got himself up there.  Scott assumed it had something to do with the scrubby looking pine tree that lurked next to the house – he had tried to climb once, but the branches looked too thin to support his weight and he was forced to climb back down.   No amount of bribery or threats could get John to say how.

            "He will if I tell him," Virgil told John.

            "Don't be such a baby, Virgil," John said.  He glanced at Scott, who was now standing on the top of the tire, holding onto the rope.

            "So let me come with you," Virgil said. 

            "We don't want you to," John said.  

 Virgil watched his brother's blond head disappear from above the gutter.   He turned around to face Scott, who shrugged.   

            "Next time, Virg."

            Anger flashed across Virgil's face.  He backed up across the yard, a mixture of burnt grass and dust, picked a rock off the ground and winged it at his brother on the roof.  

            The minute it left his hand he knew he had made a mistake.  The rock sailed confidently through the air, the sun glinting off it in tiny bursts.  John had his back to his brothers, facing out across the wheat field that stretched endlessly behind the old farmhouse.  Virgil called for John to look out, but John simply turned around, and the rock smacked him full in the face, knocking him down on one knee.  Both Virgil and Scott gasped, and Scott felt his stomach drop.  

            "John!  I'm sorry!  I didn't mean to!" Virgil said.  He didn't really think he could hit him.  John had his hand over his mouth.  He pulled it away.  Blood was running down his chin.  Virgil's eyes widened.

            "Scott!"  Scott looked to see his father standing behind the screen door.  "Get Alan and Gordon and…" he stopped to see his son John come sailing down from above his head, hit the ground rolling, and get up to tackle his younger brother.  Jeff Tracy stood there, frozen for a moment, before slamming the screen door open and charging into the yard.

            "_John_!"

            It was the sound of a rifle being fired.  John froze, pinning Virgil on his belly in the dust.  He let go and sprang to his feet.  Virgil got up more slowly.  He dropped his eyes to study his sneakers.  As he watched, a drop of blood fell onto the tip of John's sneaker.  He looked up to see his father take John's face in his hand and pull it gently up to face his.

            "Dad," John mumbled in protest.  "It's noth…ow!" His father had taken a handkerchief out of his pocket and was wiping John's face.  Scott trotted over to take a look.

            "Whoa.  I think that's gonna have to be sealed, Johnny."  There was a jagged flap of skin over his lip.  It was really bleeding.  His father reached down absently and pushed Scott behind him, out of his way.  Scott glanced down at Virgil, who was staring at John, looking a little green. 

"Scott might be right," their father said.  "Come on inside and let's have Grandma take a look."

John trailed after his father, holding the rapidly reddening handkerchief to his mouth.  He turned around to catch Scott's eye.  He pointed at the roof and raised his eyebrows.  Scott grinned back at him.  That had been pretty intense.

He looked down at Virgil, who looked like he was about to vomit.  He slid his arm around his brother.

"Come on, Virg.  You don't want to be around if Father has to seal John.  You know how much he yells."  He was trying to say it lightly, leading him away, but Virgil kept turning back to look his father.  The two boys walked out to the rail fence that marked the edge of the backyard, and hopped up.  Virgil planted his chin on his fists and stared out across the fields grimly, eyebrows drawn together.  Scott watched him.

            "He's going to be okay." Scott told him.

            Virgil just shrugged.

            "Did you see him come down from the roof?" Scott asked.  That had been worth it, in his opinion, seeing his brother fly. 

            "Yeah," Virgil mumbled.

            "Come on.  That was pretty cool."

            Virgil was still for a moment, and then nodded.  "Yeah.  He looked like a praying mantis."  He made a swooping gesture with his hand, all splayed fingers.

            Scott laughed.  "Don't tell him that."

 "Maybe if I tell him how cool that was he won't kill me."

            Scott shook his head.  "He won't.  He got his.  He's done.  You know John.  He's mad for fifteen minutes and then it's forgotten."

            "Scott…I hit him in the _face_ with a _rock_.  I don't think he's gonna let it slide."

            "Scott!  Virgil!"  Scott looked behind him to see his ten-year old brother running full tilt towards him.  Scott tapped Virgil on the leg and jerked his head behind him.  Virgil turned around also.  Alan came to a halt and bent over in exaggerated exhaustion.

            "What's up, Al," Scott said, smiling a little.

            "John's bleeding all over the kitchen." Alan said excitedly.

            "Yeah, we know."

            Alan looked a little disappointed.  "Dad says to come inside and get cleaned up."  

            Scott jumped off the fence.  "Where's Gordon?"

            "Upstairs.  He says he still has a headache."  Alan climbed up on the fence.  "Will you walk me?"

            "You can do it by yourself," Scott told him.  "I'll spot you."

            Alan climbed up to the top rail of the fence and tried to stand up.  Scott stood next to him and Alan got a grip on his hair.

            "Easy, iron man," Scott said.  "Stand up slowly."

            Alan stood, and balanced on the top rung.  He began to walk, letting go of Scott's hair.  Virgil watched them.

            "Do you want me to go get Gordon?" Virgil asked.

            "No, I'll do it," Scott said as Alan wobbled violently and Scott grabbed his arm to steady him.  "We've got to do the line in…ow, Alan…" he checked his watch.  "Half an hour."

            "Oh," Alan said..  "I thought it was something good."  He had regained his balance and was walking slowly but surely to the fence post.

            "Nope." Scott said.  They reached the end of the fence.  "Get down."

            Alan jumped down.  "Is John in trouble?" he asked.

            "Yeah," Scott said.  

            "Why?"

            When Scott didn't say anything, Virgil said, "Because John jumped off…"

            Scott cut him off.  "The rope swing and tackled Virgil."  You had to be careful what you said around the two younger boys.  Alan was perfectly capable of jumping off the roof if he knew that John had.

            "Oh," Alan said, losing interest.  John and Virgil fought all the time.


	2. Chapter Two

John sat on a stool in the kitchen, holding a towel up to his lip while his grandmother unpacked her first aid kit.  His father leaned against the sink, watching.   John kept his eyes closed.  Now that he his adrenaline had cooled, he felt a little shaky.  His mouth hurt, and his shoulder was throbbing and felt hot.

            He felt his grandmother's cool hands take the towel away from him.  "All right, John," she said.  "I'm going to spray it now.  This is going to feel cold."

            His foot twitched as she sprayed the wound.  Cold was an understatement for one intense moment, and then the pain lessened considerably.  He opened one eye and then closed it immediately, his eyelashes brushing his grandmother's glasses.

            "Just hold still for a minute," she said absently.  "What do you think, Jeff?"

            John held his breath as he heard his father walk closer.  A shadow moved across the inside of his eyelids, and a faint whiff of coffee.  

            "That needs sealing."

            John let out a barely audible sigh.  He felt his grandmother pat his shoulder.  "You just hang in there, kiddo."  He felt her move away, and he opened his eyes.

            "Do you want to tell me what this was all about?" his father asked.

            John opened his mouth, but his grandmother jumped in.

            "Don't talk for a minute there, John.  I don't want him to start bleeding again," she explained to Jeff.  

            Jeff gave John a look that let him know this reprieve was temporary.  John was trying to think of a way to present the evidence that would result in a minimum of punishment for all parties when his grandmother placed a hand on his chin.

            "Can I count on you to hold still?" she asked, looking into his eyes.

            He nodded slightly.

She smiled.  "That's a good boy," and lifted the sealer to his mouth.  At the first touch, he jerked his head back sharply and hissed in pain.  It had been a couple of years since his grandmother had to do this to any of them, and he had hoped that his memory of the pain was exaggerated because he was younger when it happened.    That was wishful thinking.  

            "Jeff, come here and hold his head," his grandmother said.

            John shook his head.  "No, I can…"

            "Don't talk."

            "Mokay.  Uh wun mofe."  John tried to speak without moving his lips.  His father, who had come forward, stopped.  His grandmother looked at her son for a moment, and then back down at her grandson, who was gripping the seat of the stool so tightly his knuckles were white.

            "Okay.  Get ready."  She applied the sealer again.  John flinched, but didn't move.

            Jeff watched as his son's foot kicked steadily and with increasing intensity against the legs of the stool.  He was taking this better than Jeff thought he would.   

            "Okay," his grandmother said.  She stepped away from her grandson.  "That won't leave a scar," she said with satisfaction.

            "Too bad," John said, a little thickly.  His lip was still numb.  Jeff stepped forward.  It was a clean seal, a shiny knitted line just above delicate curve of his son's upper lip.  "Looks fine, John." Jeff said.   "The swelling should go down in a day or so."

            His grandmother sprayed a mild anesthetic  cream on it.  "This will help, but it's going to sting for a few hours."

            John nodded.  "Am I done?" he asked, very soft on the d.  He got up off the stool.

            Jeff looked sternly at his son.  John met his glance with level eyes.  Jeff Tracy didn't like his sons to be afraid to look him in the eye.  "We will discuss this later, John.  Before dinner.  Count on it."

            "Yes, Father." John said.  His expression didn't change.

"Go upstairs and get cleaned up."

            John was out of the kitchen in a flash.

            Jeff and his mother looked at each other.  Jeff shook his head.  "If any of them survive to graduate high school, I will consider it a major victory, Mother."

            "They're your boys, Jeff," she said mildly.  He raised an eyebrow at her, but she didn't comment anymore.


	3. Chapter Three

John barreled into Scott's room.  Scott was pulling on a shirt with a collar.  "Don't get blood on my bed," he said.

John just tilted his head up.  Scott sighed exaggeratedly and walked over to take a look.  "Nice," he said.  "Did it hurt?"

            "She _lasered_ my face shut," John said, lisping slightly.  "What do you think?"

            "You know, it's not actually a laser," Scott told him.  

            John gave him a look of disgust, which Scott supposed he deserved.  "You look like you've been slaughtering cows or something," he said.  "You'd better get cleaned up."

            John looked at his watch.  "Oh no, we only have twenty one hundred minutes left," he said mockingly, and walked into the bathroom to admire the newest addition to his face.

            "You know, for someone who's supposed to be so good at math, you should really understand military time," Scott called.

            "I do understand it.  I'm just against it." John called back.

            Virgil walked into Scott's room, wearing a button-down shirt and with his chestnut hair mostly combed.

            "Did you see John's scar?" Scott asked him.  Virgil shook his head and sat on his brother's bed.  "I'll wait until he shows me."

            "Okay," Scott said.  "Seriously, don't worry.  He's happy about it."  He headed to check on Gordon and Alan.

            Gordon and Alan's room was in its usual state of exploded closet.  Scott stepped on a soccer ball that was in the doorway and half-fell into the room, sending the ball bouncing against the radiator and his twelve-year old brother Gordon into a paroxysm of hysteria.  Scott grabbed the wall to regain his balance.

"I thought you were sick," he said to Gordon, who was lying on top of his bed in a tangle of sheets, wearing just a pair of shorts.

"I got better," Gordon said cheerfully.  "Alan found a cricket in his drawer."

            "Alan, knock it off and get dressed."

            "I want to show it to Dad," Alan said.  He was pouncing on each piece of clothing in his drawer, holding still for a moment, and then quickly shaking it out.  Scott and Gordon watched him for a moment in silence.

            "If only we could harness his powers for good," Gordon said.  Scott laughed, and Alan turned around to give them a brief, injured look before returning to his task.

            "Al, Dad knows what a cricket looks like."  Scott told him.

"I think it was a locust," Alan said.  "They swarm."

"Look, we have the line in fifteen minutes, kid. Get the lead out.  You too, Gordon."  He nodded at his brother on the bed, who rolled over, slid off the bed, and slithered underneath it.  Scott just rolled his eyes and went back to his room.  He bumped into John, who was standing in the hall with his arms outstretched in front of him and a bemused expression on his face.  He looked up at Scott.  "Does this seem wrong to you?" he asked.  He had changed out of his dust-and-blood covered t shirt and was wearing a blue oxford shirt, unbuttoned.  The cuffs of his shirt ended in the middle of his forearms.  "Don't you think it's weird that I didn't know I got taller?"

            "I think you're weird no matter how tall you are,"  Scott told him.  "Go check my closet and hurry up."  He could hear a car outside.

            "Hey, I'm injured, you know," John ambled into Scott's room.

            Scott looked at his watch.  Eight minutes to go.  He trotted back to his room.  "Where's Virgil?" he asked John, who was lazily flicking through Scott's closet.

            John shrugged without turning around.  Scott started down the hall to Virgil's and John's room, but stopped at the sight of Virgil dragging a laughing Gordon out from under the bed while Alan watched.

            "Hey," Scott snapped.  "If you three aren't dressed and downstairs in…." he looked at his watch.  "Seven minutes, I'm gonna bust all three of your heads open."

            Virgil dropped Gordon's legs and Gordon leapt to his feet.  "I'm ready," Gordon protested.  Scott raised an eyebrow at him, and Gordon bent down and picked a crumpled shirt off the floor and held it up.  "Okay, _now_ I'm ready."

            Scott looked at Virgil.  Virgil grabbed a handful of copper-colored hair and dragged Gordon, protesting, into the bathroom.  Scott pulled a shirt out of Alan's closet and handed it to him.  Alan stripped off his t shirt and pulled the clean one over his head.

            "I found the cricket," he told Scott, as his head popped out from the top of the shirt.

            "Good for you," Scott said, looking around the room for Alan's sneakers.  He found one under Gordon's dresser.

            "Look.  Scott, look.  Look!" Alan said.

            Scott was on his knees, peering under Alan's bed.  

            "Don't go under there!" Alan yelled, and launched himself at Scott.

            "I really don't have time for this."  Scott just grabbed Alan around the waist and stood up, holding him.  Scott had cleared six one in the spring, and there was nothing Alan, who hadn't gotten halfway to five feet, could do but flail in frustration.  Scott spied Alan's other sneaker, picked it up, and carried all three items into this room where he dropped them on his bed. "Put your sneakers on," he told Alan.

            "I'm gonna be taller than you one day," Alan told him as he shoved his foot into his sneaker.

            "Fine with me," Scott said.  He ran his fingers through his hair.  "You remember what to do?"

"Stand up straight, look him in the eye, don't mumble, and…" Alan paused, staring off into space.  "I forget."

"Get that bug off my bed."


	4. Chapter Four

"And this is my oldest son, Scott," Jeff said.

            Scott offered his hand.  "Hello, sir."

            "You're the spitting image of your father, did you know that?"

            "Yes, sir."

            "How old are you now?"

            "Sixteen, sir."

            "I met you when you were six, but I doubt you remember that."

            "Yes, sir."

            The man paused for a moment, looking at Scott curiously.  He had a florid face and was wearing very neat casual clothes that seemed to be straining to transform themselves into a suit.  Scott meet his gaze politely.  

            "Nice to see you again, Scott."

            "Yes, sir."

            Behind the man, his father nodded approvingly.

            His father continued down to John, who mumbled hello, all the time keeping his eyes down.  John, who could be so volatile among family, had a tendency to evaporate in the face of scrutiny.  That and he was trying to keep the stranger's eyes off of his face.

            "That looks like a new seal," the man remarked.  

"Yes, sir," John said.  He glanced at his father for a moment, and immediately regretted it.

"Well, boys will be boys, " the man said.

            Scott could feel a wave of disdain sweep from Alan on up the line.  He smiled a little.

            Virgil was being introduced.  Virgil admired the man's car, which Scott hadn't had a chance to notice.   

            "Hello, sir!" Gordon boomed, shaking the man's hand enthusiastically.  "It's a pleasure to have you here."

            "Why thank you, young man," the man said with a chuckle.  Gordon's voice hadn't broken yet, and what he lacked in depth he tried to make up in volume.  Scott kept his eyes softly on his father.  His father's mouth firmed, but Scott was pretty sure he was trying not to laugh. 

            "Have you been to Kansas before, sir?" Gordon asked.

            "Well, I can't say I have, son."

            "It's called the Sunflower State and its motto is Ad Astra Per Astera.  That's Latin, which is a language ancient Greeks used to write mottos and stuff."

            The man started laughing, and Scott relaxed a little as his father joined in.  "All right, Gordon," his father said.  "Do you know what it means?"

            Gordon stopped.  "No, sir."

            "Virgil?"

            "Um…no, sir."  Virgil was struggling with French at school.   John was on his third year of Latin, and Scott prayed he knew this, because Scott sure as hell didn't.

            "John?"

            "It's ad aspera…" John stopped and cleared his throat.  "Sorry.  I mean, it's _ad astra per_ _aspera_, and it means 'to the stars through difficulties.'"  

            "Do you know what that means?" His father asked.  John looked hesitant.  

            "I…it means…through the stars…."

            His father cut him off.  "Yes, but what does it _mean_?  It's a phrase that predates space travel, after all."  
            John was silent.

            "It means impossible goals are attainable through hard work."  Scott said.

            "That's right, Scott," his father said.  There was a slight pause.  Scott shifted his gaze to the man, who was looking a bit at sea.  Scott gave a little inward sigh.  He hadn't realized until about three years ago that nobody else in the world had to go through this sort of thing.  He knew what his father was trying to do – at least, he thought he might – but lately he wished he wouldn't do it in front of people.

            "Something we know a little about, hey Tracy?" the man said, slapping Jeff on the back.

            "That's right," Jeff said.  "And this is my youngest boy, Alan."


	5. Chapter Five

Forgot the disclaimer!  I don't own anything associated with the Thunderbirds, and don't pretend to.

            "Triagulum," Virgil said.  "That one's easy."

            "Yeah?  What's the name of the one named star in it?"

            "Trianglehead." Virgil guessed.

            John laughed.  "Metallah," he told him.

            "Remember that," Scott said.  "You'll definitely need that information later in life."  He snapped the headphones connected to his computer over his ears.  He was always amazed at John's ability to forget a fight.  Virgil would brood for days after an argument, becoming angry again and again and would bring it up long after his brothers had forgotten about it.   John had whapped Virgil on the back of the head on their way upstairs to wait for lunch, but Scott could tell his heart wasn't in it.  

            "Can I have a go after you?" John asked.  Scott had a new flight simulator program on his computer.

            "It'll be hours until he crashes," Virgil said.  He was lying on the old braided rug on the floor of Scott's room, studying the innards of Alan's remote-controlled car that hadn't survived its most recent run-in with its owner.

            John reached down from where he was lying on Scott's bed and poked Virgil's back in a pattern.

            "Ummm….Libra."

            "Think." John said, repeating the pattern.

            "Oh…Cassiopeia?"

            "Yeah."  John yawned and rolled over.  

            "What are the named stars?" Virgil asked him.

            "Shedir, Caph, Ruchbah, Segin, Archird, and the two Marfaks.  You want the numbers?" John said.

            "No, just wanted to make sure you knew," Virgil said mildly.  Scott snorted.

            "Alan really killed this thing," Virgil said, poking the wires inside with a finger.  John rolled back over and looked over the edge of the bed.

            "It's not made to go down stairs," John said. 

            "It's amazing that anything of Alan's lasts longer than a week," Virgil said.  He handed the car up to John.  "Can you fix it?"  John grabbed the car and probed the inside for a second, and then handed it back to Virgil.  "You can figure it out," he said.  "Check the wires."  

            Virgil began following one of the wires.  "Is Scott still alive?"

            John craned his neck.  "Yeah. Hey Scott, do you get to shoot anything on this one, or just fly around in weather systems?"

            "This is not some stupid game," Scott said, eyeing the mountain range ahead.  "You have to really know what you're doing."

            John watched the screen for a moment, and then looked down at Virgil.   "Scott's flying in rain now," he told him.

            "That's exciting," Virgil said.  He had found what he hoped was the disconnected wire and tried to figure out where it would go.  Virgil was a great taker-apart of things, dismantling everything desk lamps to computers to see how they worked, and then slowly and methodically putting them back together until he understood them wholly. He found a peculiar satisfaction unlocking the secrets behind technology, everything breaking down to common connections and code. There was a  moment when something that used to be disjointed pieces began to meld together, becoming the beginning of an actual functioning object – it was like creating something, Virgil thought.  Like making a painting – but it was useful, concrete and to Virgil, more real.  However,  he wasn't so great at figuring out how to make something that didn't work, work.  John had, in Virgil's opinion, the more irritating ability to intuit how things worked, and when Alan and Gordon smashed anything to bits they usually appealed first to John.  But John, although he could fix nearly anything, was not terribly interested in it and more often than not wouldn't be bothered.

            "Just because I'm going to be zooming around the world in my supersonic jet while you two are stuck on a bus in Wyoming somewhere…" Scott stopped, distracted by the sudden wind shear off the mountain range, and began making adjustments.

            "I wish we didn't have to do this," John said.  He checked his watch.  "Countdown to automaton lunch in t minus five."

            Virgil laughed, and Scott paused the game and looked around at him.  "Did either of you catch that guy's name?"

            Both the boys shrugged.  Scott sighed and got up from his chair.  John leapt off the bed and made a dive for the computer, but Scott just tossed him to the left and he landed ungracefully on the beat-up highback chair that had become too shabby to be downstairs.  

            "Wonder what he's doing," Scott said.  "Dad, I mean.  With that guy."

            "Something to do with the a new type of engine for airplanes," Virgil said.

            "How do you know that?" John asked, surprised.

            "I asked him."

"Huh," John said.  

"I bet it's pretty interesting," Virgil said.   "Some of that stuff Dad builds is pretty cool, you know."  They had all, at one time or another, been to one of the many manufacturing plants of Tracy Industries to see a prototype or toured a newly-built building.  "I wouldn't mind working there some day."

"You're going to have to fight Scott for it," John said.  "Number one son is going to take over the company." 

            Scott gave John an irritated look.  "One of us probably should – work there, I mean.  I don't want it," he said to Virgil, folding his arms over his chest.  "I'm not going to sit behind a desk and study diagrams all day, or whatever it is he does."

            "Yeah, Captain, we know."  John said.  "Father's got you all mapped out in his footsteps."

            "Shut up," Scott said.  "That's not why."

            "Boys! Lunch is ready!" 

            "Coming, Grandma," Scott called back.

            "Because you, Scott Tracy, are next in line in the Tracy family," John said, making his voice gruff.  

            Virgil lowered his voice as well.  "And what you do as a Tracy reflects on all of us."

            Scott twisted his mouth sourly at his brothers for a minute, and then gave in.  "And you'd better think long and hard about what it means to be a Tracy," he added in his best father's voice.

            The three trooped out of Scott's room.  They could hear Gordon thundering down the stairs, and their grandmother admonishing him to slow down before he broke his neck.

            "I don't actually know what he means, though," Virgil said meditatively.  "What _does_ it mean to be a Tracy?"

            "Do you really want to know?" John asked.  

            Neither boy answered.  They filed into the dining room where their father and his guest stood, waiting.


	6. Chapter Six

"Apparently, both Boeing and Mifume Tech have been working on a prototype, but I don't think anything has been seen," the man said.  Jeff Tracy gave him a brief nod, and then turned his attention to his sons.  Jeff didn't talk business in front of his sons, and mealtimes were often the only chance he had to check in with all of them.

            "So what did you have planned for this afternoon, boys?" he asked Scott.

            Scott took a drink of iced tea to stall for time.  They had planned to go to Kelsey Point, but that required John and he was probably going to be grounded or killed or something for jumping off the roof – and if John told his father about the rock, than that meant Virgil was out of the equation too.  And Scott himself felt a little guilty for letting the whole thing happen.  He put down his iced tea and decided to test the waters.

            "Well, John and I were thinking of hiking up to Kelsey Point."  It wasn't a hike – there was no hiking in Kansas – but the more it sounded like an ordeal, the more it would appeal to his father.  

            "What for?" his father asked.

            That stumped Scott.  He looked at John, who was dismantling his sandwich into bread balls and rolls of turkey.   He caught Scott's glance,  put his hands in his lap, and shrugged.

            "We always go…and we haven't been this summer…and the place is so weird…" John smiled slightly, a nervous habit.  "I want to see if anything's changed."

            "What's Kelsey Point?" their guest asked.  

            "It's just a tract of land three miles from here."  Jeff said.  "There was a factory there, next to what used to be Kelsey Lake.  They tore down the factory and filled in the lake about a fifty years ago.  The foundation of the factory is there – it's a hole about a quarter of a mile square.  It _is _a pretty unusual place, actually.  The landscape is odd."

            "The filled in the lake?" the man asked.

            "They drained it, put a clay cap on it, and then sodded it." Jeff explained.  "Although the droughts at the beginning of the century probably did the real draining.  Most of the topsoil blew away during the droughts, so it's just a big clay spot now.  The company had been dumping so much waste in the water that the lake was dead, and once the factory was gone, people were afraid that their kids would go swimming in it…so they closed it off."

            "Was there toxic waste?" Gordon asked.

            "If you mean radioactive, no.  But they were certainly dumping poison into the water."

            "Oh." Gordon sounded disappointed.  "Because in school last year?  Our teacher was telling us that a long time ago they had toxic waste and things got all mutated.  So you'd have like, frogs with three heads things like that."

            Alan was listening with interest.  Three-headed frogs were right up his alley.  "Did she bring any into class?"

            "No, dummy.  That was years ago.  Anyway, a three-headed frog would live, like, for ten minutes."

            "Why?"

            "Because it has three heads!  You can't live with three heads." Gordon was contemptuous.

            "If you couldn't live with it, you couldn't be born with it." Alan said.

            "Yeah?  Well…how would you decide where to go?  Like, what if one head wanted to go one way and the other head wanted to go the other way?" Gordon countered.

            Both the guest and their father were smiling broadly.  

            "Well, what about conjoined twins?" Virgil said.  "That's often two people sharing a set of legs, and they don't argue about where to go."

            "Yeah," Alan said.  "What about them, Gordon?"

            Gordon wasn't about to let Alan make an ally out of Virgil, especially when he knew Alan had no idea what Virgil was talking about.

            "That's different,   That's not a mutation."

            "Ah ha," his father said.  "Keep going, Gordon."

            Gordon glowed.  "Because if it's a mutation, it's your whole body and stuff not working the way it's supposed to because of the toxic chemicals, right Dad?"

            His father nodded.  "That's right.  Anything exposed to enough chemical waste to have that sort mutation would have a host of other problems – organs not formed correctly – and probably cancer."

            "You have some bright boys there, Jeff," their guest said.  "My sister's two kids don't talk about anything but video games."

            "We're only allowed to play for an hour each day," Alan said.  "The rest of the time we have to be outside."  He dragged on the last word.  Jeff and his guest exchanged wry glances.

            "I would think you'd want to be outside…Alan, right?  All these fields and trees…"

            Alan shrugged.  He was still stinging slightly from the frog discussion, and didn't like discussing family stuff with strangers.  His grandmother pointed to his plate.  "Eat," she told him.  He picked up his sandwich.

            "Do you all go to school around here?" the man asked.

            Scott waited a moment to see if his father was going to answer for him, and then said, "No, sir.  We only come here for the summer.  The rest of the time we're away at school."

            "That's a boarding school?"

            "Yes sir."

            "All of you together at the same school?  That must be something."

            "No," Virgil said.  "Scott and John are at the Greene Institute in Phoenix.  Me and Gordon are at Sayerville Academy, and Alan stays home."

            "I don't stay home," Alan said with dignity.  "I go to Crockett Day.  I'll go to Sayerville when I'm thirteen."

            "I've heard of the Greene Institute," the man said.  "I think I know someone who's son was … well.  Do you like it there?"

            "Yes, sir." Scott answered quickly, because John didn't like it.  He wanted to transfer schools, and was trying to figure out a way to ask his father.

            "What's your favorite subject?" the man asked.

            "American history," Scott said promptly.  "And trigonometry."

            "Those are pretty different subjects," the man said.  Scott wished his father would mention his name.  He hated not knowing who he was talking to.

            "Yes, sir." Scott said.  

            "Are you doing well in school?"

            "Yes, sir."  Scott put down his sandwich and resigned himself over to this conversation.

            "Are you thinking about colleges?" the man asked.

            "Yes, sir." 

            "Any in particular?"

            "Harvard, Yale, University of Chicago, and Dartmouth.  Maybe Stamford."

            "Those are pretty tough schools to get into."

            "Yes, sir.  They are."   

            "You have the grades to get into schools like that?"

            "Yes, sir." Scott said.  

            The man paused for a moment, and looked at Scott like he thought Scott was making fun of him.  Scott didn't change his expression. 

            "So what would you like to get a degree in?  History?"

            Scott took a breath, and then let it out.  "I haven't decided, sir."

            "Don't let it go too long," the man said.  "Too many young people these days just drift around without having any idea of what they want to do and wind up doing nothing with their lives."

            "Yes, sir."  He wished this guy would shut up.

            "Scott wants to be a pilot," his father said.  

            "Really?" the man said.  "Just like your father."

            "Yeah.  Sir."  Scott said.

            "You don't need a Harvard diploma to be a pilot, though." The man said.

Scott appraised the man for a moment.  "No, sir.  You don't.  But I'd like to go to Harvard to get more than just a diploma."

            The man looked slightly taken aback.  There was a bit of a pause and Scott took a bite of his sandwich.  _Blowhard_, he thought.

            "Do all of you kids want to be pilots?  John?" the man asked.  Scott wondered how he managed to remember all of their names.  Most of them only remembered Virgil, and even then couldn't remember which one of them actually was Virgil.           

John looked up.  "What?  I mean…excuse me?"

            "Do you want to be a pilot like your old man?"

            "Dad was an astronaut, not a pilot," Gordon told the man.   

            "I was both, son," Jeff said.  "John?  Mr. Gates asked you a question."

            _Finally_, thought Scott.

            "Um…I don't…maybe.  I don't think I'd want to join the Air Force or anything like that," John said.  That was the understatement of the century, Scott thought.

            "John's interested in outer space," his father said.

            John hesitated, then nodded.

            "So you're more interested in the astronaut side of things," Mr. Gates said.

            "I…" John started to say something, and then said, "Yes, sir."

            "Go to the moon, maybe?" the man said.

            "Not really." John said.  "It's not much of a challenge."

            Scott gave John a kick under the table.

            "Sir," John added.  Scott kicked him again, harder.  The man was laughing.  

            "Leave it to the sons of an astronaut to be unimpressed by walking on the moon," he said.  "So what's it for you?  Mars?  Venus?"

            "Well," John said, smiling uncomfortably.  "Being an astronaut is…I'm really more interested in astronomy.  And there's a difference between… I mean, you don't need to know astronomy to be an astronaut.  You need to study things like astrophysics and quantum physics and post-calculus math and…to be an astronomer, and if you're an astronaut, you mostly need to know how to be a pilot.  The original Gemini and Apollo astronauts were all test pilots, you know – they didn't want astronomers or scientists.  They wanted people who would weren't afraid of blowing up in outer space."

            Scott sighed inwardly.  Their father often complimented John on his ability to see through things, but now might not be the best time to show off.

            Mr. Gates was staring at John with his eyebrows drawn together.  Scott took a long drink of his iced tea.  Sometimes he really hated it when his father brought people over.  When it was just the six or seven of them, they all seemed so normal to each other.  It was just when they were transposed against somebody else that they seemed a little strange, and he resented being presented with the view.

            "John's got quite a head for abstraction," Jeff said.  The way he said it, it didn't sound quite so much like a compliment.  "He's already a year ahead in math and science."  

            "Astronomy, physics, calculus…" Mr. Gates said.  "That's quite a school you boys go to."

            "They don't teach astronomy at the Greene Institute," John countered.  "In fact, after A.P Physics and calculus, there aren't any other higher maths or sciences."

            There was a slight pause.  

            "But it is a very good school, sir." John said.   "And Virgil will be there next year, right, Virg?"  Clumsy pass, but their guest took it.

            "Are you looking forward to it?" Mr. Gates asked.

            "Yessir." Virgil said.   He and Gordon were two years apart – too big a difference to spend too much time together, but he was only a year behind John.  Scott spoke enthusiastically about the school, and his friends had mythical status to Virgil.  John didn't seem to like the school so much, but that didn't deter Virgil – John was weirdly particular about a lot of things.  "Can't wait."

            "All three of you will be together then," Mr. Gates said.  "That's what you like, huh?"

            "Yessir.  And there's a sister school that shares some of the classes."

            Both Mr. Gates and their father burst out laughing.  Virgil reddened slightly, but took it in stride.

            "What's a sister school?" Alan asked.

            "Don't you mind," their grandmother said.  "Help me clear the table."

            Alan slid reluctantly out of his chair.

            "I have ice cream for dessert if anyone wants it," she said.

            "David and I have work to do," Jeff said.  "But if you could bring us some coffee in my study, Mother, I'd appreciate it."  He and Mr. Gates pushed back their chairs.

            "I can do that," his mother said.   She grabbed Alan, who was heading towards the kitchen, by his shirt collar. "Alan, take your plate in."

            Scott stood up.  "Um…Father?"

            His father turned.  "Yes, Scott?"

            "So John and I can go to Kelsey Point?"

            His father looked over at John, who kept his expression neutral.  Finally, he gave a small nod.  "Take Virgil with you.  Your grandmother is taking Alan and Gordon to the pool."

            "Thank you, Father.  It was nice to see you again, Mr. Gates," Scott said.

            Mr. Gates looked a little startled, then said, "It was nice to see you again too, Scott.  Good luck."

            "Boys, you could help instead of just standing around," their grandmother said mildly.

            Scott grabbed a plate.  "Sorry, Grandma.  I don't think we want any dessert."

            "Hey, I do," Gordon protested.

            "I didn't mean you," Scott said.  "I meant the three of us."

            "Better have," Gordon said.  

            They dropped the dishes in the sink and the three older boys clattered upstairs to change out of their clothes.  Scott was pulling his hiking boots from the top of the closet when John drifted in, carrying Scott's shirt.  

"Thanks," John said.  "Why are you wearing those?"

            "I don't want to slip," Scott said.

            John touched the scar on his lip absently.  "Good point."  He got up and left, passing Virgil on the way in.

            "You don't really mind, right?" Virgil asked.

            "What?" Scott asked, pulling on his boots.

            "That Dad's making me come with you."

            "No.  Listen, put on jeans and put your boots on."

            "Why?"

            "I'll tell you, but not until we're out of the house."

            Virgil was out of Scott's room like a shot.  Scott dug his knapsack out of his closet and checked to make sure that the rope he had stashed in their earlier was still there.  He added the flashlight he always kept next to his bed, and shoved his Swiss army knife into his pocket.  "John!" he yelled.

            John stuck his head in.  "I'm right here, Foghorn Leghorn.  What?"

            "Go steal a couple of bottles of water."

            "Yeah.  I've got my flashlight…do you think we need anything else?"

            Scott thought.  "I think we're good."

            John retreated.  Virgil came in, wearing jeans and his hiking boots.  "It's gonna be hot in these."

            "Yeah, well, I don't want to take any chances." Scott said.

            Virgil started to ask what he meant, but then stopped.  Scott could get a little testy  after having to perform as Scott, the UberTracy, and Virgil didn't want him snapping at him.


	7. Chapter Seven

            The three boys met up at the side of the house, and climbed over the fence that separated their property from the field behind it.  It could be a muddy shortcut at times, but they could pick up the old access road faster that way.  

            They didn't say much.  The July sun stared unblinkingly down at them from a cloudless expanse of pale, dry blue.  The grass in the field behind the house had grown up to about knee high, and the air was thick with the smell of growing hay and the buzz of cicadas.  There were a few white moths flitting over the heads of the grass, and large, dancing clouds of midges.

            "Think that guy's staying for dinner?" Virgil asked.

            Scott shook his head.  "Nah.  Dad never lets 'em."

            "He does when we're at school."

            "This is vacation."  Scott meant their father's vacation.  Jeff Tracy deposited the boys at his mother's house for the two months of their summer vacation, and tried to come out as much as he could, but it usually didn't amount to more than mostly long weekends, except for the two weeks he took at the end of July.  They had this arrangement for as long as Scott could remember, although when he was much younger, their mother would stay the summer with them.  "I'm surprised that guy's here at all.  Must be something important."

"Dad's been pretty busy lately," Virgil said.

            "He's always busy," Scott said.

            "I mean more than usual."

            Scott ducked instinctively as a dragonfly zoomed by his head.  "So?  He runs a giant company.  He's busy."

            Virgil pulled up a long stalk of grass and stuck the end of it in his mouth.  "I don't think he likes his work that much."

            There was a pause as John and Scott looked at Virgil in surprise.  

            "Why?" John asked.

            Virgil shrugged.  "I don't know.  He seems more…" he clenched his hand into a fist.

            Scott frowned.  "You know, that's a weird idea.  I never even thought about it.  I mean, Dad just plows ahead and does what he does.  I have no idea if he likes it."

            "He must like it," John said.  "He spends all his time doing it.  Remember Christmas?"

            "Yeah," Scott said.  "But he was really sorry, remember?"

            "Maybe I'm wrong," Virgil said.  This was a particularly annoying conversational tactic of Virgil's:  lob a grenade into the middle of the conversation, and then try to take it back.  Scott and John looked at each other, and Scott rolled his eyes.

            "Maybe he's finally making his play for total world domination," John said.  "And it's got him a little on edge."  

Virgil laughed.  "But  Dad's not evil," he pointed out.  

"Details."  John gave a dismissive wave.  

            "Actually, if you think about it," Virgil said after a minute.  "He's got general construction, aircraft and rocket construction…there could be some weapons contracts in there that we don't know about, and he does have all those WSP contacts.  You might be onto something."

            "WSP doesn't make weapons," John said, a little heatedly. 

            "I don't think Dad would do anything with weapons," Scott said, looking out across the field.  "It doesn't seem like him."

            John started laughing.  

            "What?"

            "Just…you're right.  He'd never make weapons.  Never.  Dad would think bombs are for people who…" he dropped his voice into his version of his father's.  "Aren't using their heads right."  He laughed again.  "I mean, just imagine him meeting a general asking for some."

            Scott finally got the picture and started laughing as well.  " 'Go back there and tell that army to shape up before I have to go over there and talk to them myself.' "

            Virgil looked back and forth between his two older brothers, and then shrugged.  "There's the road." 

            Virgil gave John a look, and they both took off, racing towards the road.  Scott continued at his own pace.  It had to be over ninety degrees.  He wasn't running anywhere.

            "You guys are just going to have to wait," he called.  The heat was making the figures of his brothers shimmer across the field.  John's hair looked almost white in the sun as he raised his arms in victory.  Virgil said something to John, but Scott couldn't make it out.  It didn't seem like they were arguing, at least.  

            Scott drew closer and tossed Virgil a water bottle.  Virgil downed half of it and handed the rest to his older brother, who finished it and stuck it back in Scott's knapsack as they walked.

            "So…you going to tell me what's the big deal here?" Virgil asked.

            "You know Andrew Clayton?"  Scott said after a minute.

            "Yeah," Virgil said, without enthusiasm.  He was Scott's age, a summer friend from when they were younger.  He and Scott got along okay, but he was a bit of a bully and Virgil really didn't like him.  He could tell when someone was teasing or actually had a vicious streak, and he thought Andrew was the latter.  He had turned on Virgil a couple of times when they were younger, and he still held a grudge.

            "He got arrested for stealing his father's car," John told him.

            "Really?"  That was fun news.  "What happened?"

            "It was something like the fifth time he took it so his father wanted to teach him a lesson and made him spend a couple of hours in jail."  John got along with Andrew only marginally better than Virgil did.

            "_Any_way," Scott said.  "He told me – before he got put in jail – that he and Tuffer Finch  had gone up to Kelsey Point last week and found these…tunnels or pipes or tubes.  They explored them a little, but didn't have flashlights or anything."

            "What do you think they are?"  Virgil asked.

            "Well, it used to be a factory.  They could be heating pipes or ventilation pipes.  They could go all through the foundation.  Andrew said they were big – you couldn't stand up in them, but you could crawl and still have a lot of headroom."

            Virgil chewed on his grass.  "Okay."

            They kicked along the road for a while.  "Is there anything down there?" Virgil asked.

            Scott shrugged.  John had moved off on his own a little and didn't seem to be listening.

            "I doubt it."

            "What do they lead to?"

            "How should I know?"

            "So why go?"

            "Because it's exploring, stupid.  I don't know what's down there and I want to know what is."  Scott said with some asperity.

            "Okay," Virgil said.  They walked in silence for a moment, until Virgil said,  "I'm just saying…it's probably not going to be that interesting."

            Scott struggled for a moment for something to say, and finally burst out with, "It doesn't matter if it's interesting!  Nobody's been down there!"

            "Okay, okay," Virgil said.  "Jeez."

            "You don't have to go down in them," John said.  "If you're too scared."

            Virgil pulled the piece of grass out of his mouth and tossed it aside without comment.

            "There it is."  Scott said.

            John loved Kelsey Point.  He knew that it was a result of poor land maintenance and criminal corporate behavior and all that, but he couldn't help it – the results were so jarring, and seemed to have a dark alien beauty all their own, like a forest after a fire.  The land had been disrupted, but seemed to have worked out a balance on its own, and for some reason, John found that appealing.   Their father had taken all of them on a swamp tour once a few years ago, and drifting though those dark waters between tall cypress trees laden with Spanish moss gave him the same feeling.  He couldn't really articulate it, and wouldn't bother to try.

            The road ended about a hundred feet from the factory.  The boys had speculated on why before, but could never come up with a reason.  They bashed their way through tall grass growing in large clumps, scaring up chipmunks, who bounded away from them like furry dolphins, flowing into tiny holes in the ground.

            "I think all the chipmunks in Kansas must have get their start here," John said.  "Like the forest in Brazil with all the monarch butterflies, or the eels in the Sargasso sea."

            "Watch yourself, Scott." Virgil said sharply.  Scott halted.

            "I've been here five thousand times, and I still never come up to it right," Scott said.  His two brothers joined him at the lip to the foundation.  Virgil pointed across it.  "We want to be there."

            "I was trying to _get_ to there," Scott said, a little annoyed.  "It defines orientation, or something."

            The foundation was about twenty feet deep, a hole in earth, as their father had said.  Grass and weeds grew on the floor, and some sort of climbing vine had snaked its way up the side of the concrete wall they were now perched on top of.  The lay of the land was pitched down slightly, resulting in, if you approached from the angle Scott had, coming up on what amounted to a cliff edge in the middle of the prairie.  On the other side, the wall had eroded down to a slope that was steep but walkable.  The floor of the foundation had a few different levels, so it looked a little like a city that had been long buried and forgotten.  Scott liked climbing around in there – and so did a few other people, he thought, as he noticed the beer bottles and other trash on the ground.  Behind the hole and a little to the east, the dry lake bed lay looking like an ancient, dusty cracked bowl.

            "So where are these things?" John asked.  

            Scott chewed on his lip.  "He didn't say."

            "Okay." John said.  "So…you think they're heating or venting pipes."

            "So they could be anywhere," Virgil said.

            "Well, yeah," Scott said.  "But they would only break the surface at a couple of points, right?  I mean, it's either an entrance or a terminus."

            "So it would either be inside the factory or outside of it," John said.  "That doesn't exactly narrow it down."

            "Why don't we…" Virgil began.

            "Shh.  I'm thinking," Scott said.

            "Why don't we just split up and look around?"  Virgil directed his appeal to John, who looked at Scott.

            "Yeah, Scott, why don't we just split up and look around?"

            "I know there's a better way to do it," Scott said.  "There's a way to figure it out."

            "Sure, if we had blueprints or something," John said.  "I'm going to check out by the lake."

            "I don't think they're over there." Scott said.

            "What if they were used to pump all those toxic chemicals into the lake?" John said cheerfully, walking backwards away from them.  "I'm gonna catch me a three-headed frog."  He turned around and headed east.

            "He just likes the lake bed.  It's like his own personal moon crater." Scott said.  "All right.  Virg, why don't you look in the foundation and I'll look around the perimeter."

            "Yes, sir," Virgil said.  Scott gave him a look, but let it slide.

            "You know, Greene's a lot harder than Sayerville," Scott said, as they picked their way around the edge of the factory.  Virgil looked at his brother in surprise.

"So?" 

            "A _lot_ harder."

            "How dumb do you think I am?" Virgil asked.  

            Scott waved his hand.  "It's not that.  It's different.  I mean, I think it's good that you're coming and everything, but I'm just trying to let you know, it's different.  The kids are different."

            "Like how?"

            Scott took a breath and let it out.  "Like, they're really…_rich_."

            Virgil shrugged.  "So are we."

            Scott shook his head.  "It's different."

            Virgil made an exasperated sound.  "Use your words, Scotty."  That was something they were all supposed to say to Alan when he was a little kid and having a tantrum.   Scott gave Virgil an annoyed shove, and then immediately grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him back towards him.

            "Sorry."  He had almost pushed Virgil over the wall.   "I mean, yeah, they're like us in that they've all been a lot of places and their mothers or fathers all make a lot of money and they all, you know – have eight billion houses, but…they're kind of jerks, a lot of them."

            Virgil shrugged.  That didn't sound so different from Sayerville.  

            "And the thing is?  Greene's hard to get into.  You remember all those tests you had to take.  A lot of the kids wouldn't be able to get in if their parents hadn't bought the school a new library or something, and…they _know_ it.  These kids know that, and they completely don't care.  I mean, Dad would cut off his arm before he let us get a free ride somewhere just because he's Jefferson Tracy, giant industrialist. Some of  these kids are like, yeah, I flunked out of three schools and my dad called the headmaster here and told them he had to take me.  They're almost proud of it."  Scott bit his lip and narrowed his eyes.  "Look, I think Dad's crazy a lot of the time with the stuff he makes us do, but at least he makes us do things. I want to do something hard after I graduate from college _because_ it's hard to do.  And I want to get into a good college because I worked really hard at a hard school – not because my father sends them a big check every year."

            "I didn't think you wanted to go to Kansas State anyway," Virgil said.  Scott looked at him.  

            "I'm being serious here," Scott said.  

            "Okay," Virgil said.  They had reached the edge of the foundation.

            "Just…be careful who you hang out with at Greene.  I'm going to be two grades above you and not really able to keep an eye on you."

            "You don't need to."

            "Yeah, I do." Scott said. He jerked his head towards the foundation floor.  "Get moving."

            John came ambling back.  "Negative on the three-headed frogs, sir," he reported.  "And I can't find anything that looks like a…" he tripped and disappeared behind a small tree with a grunt.  Scott cracked up.  

            "You all right there, John?" 

            There was a pause.  "Found it," John called.

            Scott walked over to where John knelt on the ground.  He could hear Virgil scrambling up the side of the foundation.

            "Hm," Scott said thoughtfully.  He knelt down next to John.

            "Yeah," John agreed.  Cool air brushed their faces.


	8. Chapter Eight

The pipe, about three and a half feet in diameter, erupted out of the dirt like a submarine frozen breaking the surface.  A thick layer of dirt lay just inside the mouth.  Scott took his flashlight out as Virgil, slightly out of breath, dropped to the ground next to them. 

            Scott played the light down the length of the pipe.  It went straight ahead for about fifty feet, but seemed to extend beyond the reach of the flashlight.

            "You know," Scott said.  "This goes somewhere."

            "Well, obviously," John said.

            "No, I mean it goes somewhere actually.  There's a draft.  If we follow this, we might wind up somewhere.  There could be rooms in the foundation, or…"

            "Or you could wind up dead," Virgil suggested.  Two pairs of contemptuous blue eyes met his own.  "Or not," he added.

            "Don't be such a chicken," Scott said.  "We'll be careful."  He switched off the flashlight and shrugged off his knapsack.  Virgil grabbed a bottle of water and opened it.  Scott took out a length of rope.

            "How long is that?" John asked.

            "I don't know.  A hundred feet?  Maybe two hundred?" Scott said.  "But I think we can sort of relay, you know what I mean?"

            John nodded.  "So who's point?"

            "It really should be Virgil," Scott said.  "He's the smallest."

            "I can hear you, you know," Virgil said.  He resealed the water bottle and put it back in Scott's knapsack.  "And I'm not going first into that thing.  Don't even try with the chicken.  It's your idea – you guys can break your own necks."

            "God, you're turning into Dad," John said.

            "No, actually, he's turning into Grandma," Scott said.  "Dad would jump at the chance to be first."  He handed the rope to John.  "But you should do it.  I feel safer if Virgil and I anchor you than if you and him anchor me.  No offense.  And besides – you're smaller and have less chance of getting stuck."

            John took the rope.  "Whatever.  Give me the flashlight."  He switched it on and started cautiously into the tunnel.

            "Stop," Scott said.  John halted.

            "Tie it around your waist," Scott said.  "Seriously.  This thing could just drop down."

            "That's a nice thought," John said.  He tied the rope around his waist and knotted it with a double knot.  "Okay?"

            "Okay."   

            John continued down the tunnel.  Scott let the rope play out of his hands.  Virgil reached over and grabbed the very end and shook it free from the coil.  

            "It's cooler in here," John's voice floated back to them.  "It's actually pretty nice."

            Scott was already following him inside.  "Hey John, slow down."

            "Oh, stop being such a scoutmaster," John said.  Scott planted himself on his knees and pulled the rope back.

            "Ow!  Cut it out!"

            "Slow down, I mean it!" Scott said, but his voice was edged with laughter.  Still, he wanted John to be careful.  When John had an audience, he had a tendency to push a dare forward in a way that he wouldn't normally if it was just a one-on-one situation. 

            Scott looked behind him.  Virgil was only about ten feet inside the tunnel, and Scott could see his outline clearly against the light from outside.  "Virgil, don't come in any further just yet, okay?" he said.

            Virgil raised his hand.  

            Scott estimated that he was about fifteen feet away from Virgil.  John was just an intermittent bouncing beam of light ahead.  Then the light disappeared.

            "Scott," John said.

            "Yeah?"

            "Come here."

            Scott followed the rope with his hands, duckwalking down the tunnel.  The light from the entrance was fading fast, and in a few more feet he was in total blackness.  

            "Give me some light," he said.

            The beam played at his feet.  The floor of the pipe was a smooth, dry cement, with just a light coating of fine dirt that eddied in the light.  He reached John, who was sitting on the floor of the tunnel.  "Check it out," he said.

            The tunnel turned sharply to the left, and began a sharp descent downward.  

            "Hmm." Scott said.

            "So, I'm thinking…I'm very glad you brought this rope."  John scrabbled around on the ground until he found a pebble and chucked it down the pipe.  They could hear it plinking down the pipe until the sound faded away.

            "Did it hit anything?" Scott asked.

            John shrugged.  "It didn't hit water, at least."

            "Yeah, but if this just goes down…"

            "You said it yourself, it has to go somewhere."

            "That's true," Scott said.  

            "Of course, you don't know what you're talking about."

            "Also true." Scott agreed.  

            "Scott!" Virgil voice came bouncing down the tunnel.

            "Yeah?" Scott half turned around.  He could still see his brother silhouetted against the opening.

            "All right, you've got to call back to me every five minutes," Virgil said.   "I can't see you."

            "Okay," Scott said.  "Virg, come in more.  We need more rope."

            He could hear his younger brother muttering mutinously as he moved in.

            "You don't have to go down," Scott told John.

            John was looking down the tunnel.  "It's all right," he said.  He took the flashlight from Scott and shone it down into the darkness.  "I bet it levels off pretty quickly."

            "Yeah," Scott said.   "I'm just thinking…if Dad has to call the fire department or whoever to come and dig you out of there…"

            John smiled, a quick gleam in the darkness.  "You've got the rope," he said.  He stuck his flashlight in his teeth.  "I'm ready," he said, mangling it slightly as he spoke around the flashlight.

            Scott wrapped the rope around his palm and the back of his upper arm.  John nodded, and cautiously began navigating down the pipe.  He had one arm out to the side and one arm over his head, and seemed to be able to anchor himself somewhat.  

            He heard Virgil moving down the tunnel, and turned to see him coming up behind him.  His brother pushed him to one side slightly so he could see.

            "Whoa," Virgil said softly.   "John went down there?"

            "Yeah," Scott said.  He could feel the weight on the rope increasing.  He couldn't see the light anymore.  

            "Don't go too fast," Scott called down the tunnel.  He heard what was either "all right," or "shut up" float back up to him.  

            "He's out of his mind," Virgil said.  "You know, there isn't anything down there."  He was tying the rope around his waist.

            "So what." Scott said.   

            "So what's the point?  He's just going to have to come back."

            Scott rolled his eyes.  "Forget it."

            There was a pause.

            "And you're the one who's supposed to keep us out of trouble," Virgil muttered.

            Scott snorted lightly, but whether it was at the fact that he was unsuited for the job or felt the job was ridiculous Virgil couldn't tell.  Lately, Virgil had become aware of the responsibility that was on Scott.  He had always known that it was up to his oldest brother to make sure they didn't lose a hand lighting off m-80s or drown in the swimming pool or – on  one memorable occasion , throw a three-year-old Alan off the back porch – but he hadn't realized that when they did something wrong when Scott was supposed to make sure they didn't, Scott seemed to get in trouble along with the troublemaker.  Like he was accountable.  Virgil hadn't known that.  He didn't think it was fair, especially because in his opinion, Gordon and Alan were borderline insane.  He wasn't really sure what to do about it, though.  He had thought about talking to John about it, but John wasn't very easy to talk to, lately.

            "That was weird, at lunch, was he said about Greene." Virgil said.

            "It wasn't very smart," Scott said, after a minute.  He could feel Virgil's questioning look.  "He doesn't want to go back to Greene, but he can't figure out how to ask Dad about it, so instead he's complaining about the school,  which Dad doesn't…it's the wrong way to go about it."

            "He doesn't want to go back to Greene?" 

            "Yeah.  Don't tell him I told you, and don't tell the kids."

            Virgil loved it when he wasn't one of the kids.  "I wouldn't."

            "Give me some more rope," Scott said.  "You okay, John?"

            A curt sound bounced up.

            "He's pretty deep," Scott said.   He unwound the rope from around his arm and began letting more out.  "He's really leaning on the rope now."

            "Is it because I'm going?" Virgil asked.

            "What?  No.  Why would you think that?"

            Virgil shrugged.  Scott shook his head at him, forgetting Virgil couldn't see it.

            "No.  There's some school in Colorado he wants to go to – actually, there's a school in New York that he _really_ wants to go to, but he figures Dad will never let him, and he's probably right, so he's going to try to convince him to let him go to the one in Boulder."

            "What's so great about the school in Boulder?"

            "He says it has all these advanced science and math classes that Greene doesn't have."

            Something in Scott's voice caught Virgil's attention.  "But you don't think that's the reason?"

            "I think it's part of the reason." Scott said after a minute.  "Back up a bit."  He moved away from the edge of the tunnel a little, around the corner.

            "What's the rest of the reason?"

            There was a pause.  "I think he want to be on his own…" he said distractedly.   "John, you all right?"

            Nothing came back up.

            Scott leaned around the corner.  "John!" he called.

            "What?" John's voice came back, faint.

            "Come back up!" Scott called.

            There was a pause.  Virgil leaned closer to the entrance.

            "Why?" they heard dimly.

            Scott gave a short laugh.  "He's like a mile deep," he muttered.  "Get up here, now!" he yelled.  The last syllable bounced off the walls and Virgil could feel his inner ear shake.

            "I think they heard you in _China_."  Virgil said.  "Holy cow."  He rubbed his ear.  From below, they could hear John yelling something.  He sounded annoyed.

            "Sorry about that," Scott said.  He started to laugh in spite of himself.   "I bet…" he stopped, yanked forward on his knees, banging his head against one side of the tunnel.    "What…back up, Virgil.  John!"

            Virgil scrambled backwards.  "What?"

            Scott was pulling frantically on the rope.  "John!  Are you okay?"

            "What happened?" Virgil asked.

            Scott put a hand behind him and pushed Virgil backwards. Virgil landed on his elbow and stared in confusion at where he thought his brother was.

            "John!"

            "Scott…I'm not on the line anymore."   John's voice came up to them.  Virgil felt a sudden chill.


	9. Chapter Nine

            "I know," Scott said.  "Can you get back up on your own?"

            "I don't know."  John called back.  "I…don't know if I should try."

            There was a pause as Scott digested this.  

            "How far down is he?" Virgil asked.  

            "How far down are you?" Scott called.

            "Pretty far," came the answer.  Scott guessed that John didn't have a lot of time to turn around and come back up before the rope broke or John let go of it, or whatever happened.

            "Why doesn't he just climb back up?" Virgil asked.  Scott turned his head and spoke quietly.

            "Because he had nothing to hold onto, and he's afraid of slipping.  That's my guess."

            Virgil wondered how Scott could be so calm.  His own heart was pounding so hard he could almost hear it echoing in the empty tunnel.  

            "What are you going to do?" he asked Scott.

            "Shut up and let me think."

            "If he falls…"

            "Virgil, I'm telling you to shut your mouth."  Scott spoke quietly enough, but Virgil subsided.

Scott  swiftly tied a loop in the end of the rope.

            "John, I'm going to throw you the rope," Scott said.

            "Okay," John's voice floated back up.  "Hurry up."

            His voice sounded strained.  Scott wondered if he was hurt.  He tossed the knotted end of the rope down the tunnel.  He shook the end so it would slide.

            "Do you have it?"  Scott called.

            "No."

            Scott shook the rope some more.  "Howabout now?"

            "No!"

            Scott turned to Virgil.  "Grab one of those water bottles.  I think we need something to weight the end."

            Virgil turned around and began crawling as fast as he could to the opening of the tunnel.  He blinked as he stuck his head outside – the sunlight shining on the field seemed painfully naïve.  Virgil grabbed Scott's knapsack and headed back into the darkness.

            "Scott," John's voice came bouncing up the tunnel.

            "Yeah?"

            "You need to hurry up."

            "Are you hurt?"

            "No.  You need to hurry up," John repeated.

            Virgil  reached Scott and pressed the water bottle into Scott's hands.  Scott knotted the rope around it and tossed it down the tunnel.  He could feel it sliding endlessly down into the darkness, the vibrations playing up into his hands, until it stopped.

            "John?  Do you have it?"

            "No," John said.

            "You're farther down than the rope," Scott called.

            "I know that!" John yelled.

            "You should have said something!" Scott bellowed back.

            "I didn't want to scare you guys!" John shouted.

            "We're already scared, John!" Virgil yelled, and they could hear John laughing.

            "Don't make me laugh," John called after a minute.  "I mean it."

            "John…can you tell us what happened?"  Scott called.

            "I'll tell you when I'm up there," John said.  "Just hurry up and get me out of here."

            Scott resisted the urge to yell "How?" down the shaft.   He understood why John was trying not to scare them – Scott was trying to do the same thing.  Scared people were unpredictable, and that could be dangerous.

            "Should I go get Dad?" Virgil asked.

            Yes, that was exactly what Scott wanted.  He wished more than anything that his father was here right now, able to take charge, able to fix everything.  Maybe it was childish, but Scott felt that nothing really bad could happen if their father was in charge.  But even if Virgil ran back to the house at full speed – which he couldn't do in this heat anyway – it would still take him around an hour.  Factor in another fifteen minutes for their father to mobilize and call whoever it was that dug idiots out of underground pipes, it could almost be two hours before John got out.  Scott was sure that John was in a more dire predicament than he was letting on – he could hear it in his voice, even distorted.  And there was no way in hell he was going to let anything happen to John.

            They didn't have a choice, as he saw it.  

            "That's plan B," he told Virgil.

            "I really think it should be plan A." Virgil said.

Scott took a breath.  "I know.  But I'm not sure we have the time."

 "Scott…if the three of us get trapped down there…"

            "It's not going to happen." Scott said firmly.  "Both of us aren't going to go down.  That would be stupid."

"This whole thing is stupid!" Virgil said.  He was on the edge of full-blown panic.  Scott had been briefly entertaining the idea of sending Virgil down – he'd rather have more weight at the top, but looking at him now, he thought maybe that wasn't the brightest idea.  

"It's going to be okay," Scott told him, a little automatically.  "You're all right."

            "I'm not worried about _me_," Virgil said angrily.

            "Well, you worry about you, and I'll worry about John," Scott said.

            Virgil gave him a skeptical look, and that made Scott feel better.  

            "Make sure that rope is tied tight," Scott told him.  He gave the end a tug, and Virgil examined the knot.  "It feels okay," he said.

            Scott tied the other end around his own waist.  "Okay, listen to me.  I want you to stay around the corner, and brace yourself against the wall with your feet.  Towards the end, John was really leaning on the rope, and I weigh more than him, and you, so it's really important that you not get pulled down on top of us, okay?"

            Virgil nodded.

            "If you feel yourself sliding, you yell and I'll stop, okay?"

            "Okay."

            "Listen to me.  If there is the slightest doubt that you can hold on, yell and I'll come back up.  You can't let me fall."

            Virgil nodded.  If Scott fell, or slid, he'd knock John further down the tunnel, maybe further than could be reached.  The thought was sickening, and he pushed it from his mind as he crawled backwards around the corner, and braced himself best he could.

            "All right," Scott said.  "Hey, John?"

            "Yeah?"

            "I'm coming down."

            There was a pause, and then John said, "Okay."  Even with the distortion from the echo, Scott thought John sounded reluctant.  Scott smiled to himself.  It sounded so classic John, prickly about his privacy.

            Scott nodded to Virgil, and then started down the tunnel.  His hiking boots were giving him good traction on the floor of the pipe, although the total darkness was unsettling.

            "John, can you shine your flashlight up?" he called.

            "No," John said shortly.  "I don't have it anymore."  Scott began to move as fast as he dared, but the darkness was oppressive and he kept having this image of kicking John away from him.  John sounded so far away.

            "Are you sliding down?" he asked.

            "No.  Stop asking stupid questions."

            It was growing colder and colder as Scott moved down the pipe.  The cold in a way was helping, keeping him focused, because the darkness was so total and John's voice was just a disembodied vibration fluttering around his head.  

            "Well, I need to know where you are," Scott said.  "So you need to keep talking."

            "There's not a whole lot of air down here," John said.

            Scott stopped for a moment.  That had never occurred to him.  The complete and total idiocy of this venture hit him over the head once more.  He was supposed to be the sensible one, the one who was supposed to keep his brothers out of trouble and in one piece.  Virgil had shown more sense this entire time, and Scott had called him chicken.  If anything happened to John because of him…Scott pushed himself forward.  

            "Okay, John," he heard himself say.  "You just hang on, and let me know when it sounds like I'm close to you."

            "Okay," John said.  "You keep talking."

            Scott braced himself his hands and slowed down more to stop himself from sliding.  The incline was increasing much faster than he expected.  Maybe John had just lost his grip and slid.  "What do you want to talk about?"

            John started laughing, and then shouted, "Don't make me laugh, Scott!  I'm not kidding!"

            "I'm really not trying to make you laugh," Scott said.  He could hear John laughing in response.

            "That wasn't even funny," Scott said.

            "Shut up!" John said.  He was still laughing.  

            Scott's boots were sliding a little on the floor, and he was bracing  himself as hard as he could, slowing his descent down to a minute crawl.  The tunnel was a long black tube of forever.  He cursed himself for ever coming up with this idea.

            "Virgil!" He yelled.  "You okay?"

            "Yeah!  Fine!"  Virgil's voice sounded high and strained.

            John laughed some more.

            "John, you're freaking me out a little," Scott said.  He had seen John do this a few times – last year, at school, a student had been killed in a drunk driving accident.  There was a solemn assembly to tell the students, and John, who knew the student fairly well, had to leave the auditorium because he couldn't make himself stop laughing.

            "Sorry," John said.  

            The tunnel was now so steep that Scott was inching down, and gripping the walls hard with the palms of his hands.  He was aware of the rope digging into his waist…and then he stopped.  He had reached the end of the line.


	10. Chapter Ten

            "John?" Scott said tentatively.

            "Yeah?"

            He sounded so close.  Scott felt relief flood his body.  

            "Hey, you're here," John said.

            "Yeah," Scott said.  Clinging to the walls of the tunnel with all his might, trying to spare Virgil his full weight.  Now he completely understood why John was afraid to move.  

            "Please tell me you're tied to Virgil," John said.

            "I'm tied to Virgil." Scott said.  "What are you holding onto?"

            "Nothing," John said.  "Can you come down farther?  Where are you?"

            "I can't see you." Scott said.  John laughed curtly.  

            "Listen, I'm going to move my leg out.  See if you can grab it."

            "Okay…just do it real slow, okay?"  

             "Check."  Scott began to slowly extend his leg, although the angle was throwing him off balance.  He moved one hand to above his head.  

            "You're too far away," John said.  "I can hear you…you're about ten feet away.  I think."

            Scott pulled his leg back.  "I'm out of rope."  He felt better in a more secure position. 

            John didn't say anything.  He just let out a tired breath.  "I wish Dad was here."

            "So do I." Scott said fervently.

            "You should go up and get him.  Get help."

            Scott squinted, trying futilely to see his younger brother in the darkness.  "Can you hold on that long?"

            "I don't have a choice, do I?" John said.  "But the longer we sit here…"

            "Hey, calm down," Scott said softly.

            John was quiet for a moment.  "Scott, please get me out of here," he said.  He sounded defeated.  Scott felt a sickening dread bloom in his stomach.

             "Virgil!" he yelled.

            "Jesus, you're loud," John muttered to himself.

            "Yeah?" he could hear Virgil's voice sounding very far away.  
            "I need more line."

            There was a pause.  Scott felt the rope around his waist stop tugging as more slack was created.  He inched down about a foot.

            "He had more line?" John wondered aloud.

            "He probably just moved closer to the opening," Scott said.  He slowly stretched out his leg again, immediately feeling off balance.  "Hang on a sec.  Virgil!  Get ready!"

            Virgil called down something, Scott couldn't really tell what.  He slowly moved until he was lying on his back, and then turned so he was sideways in the tunnel.  His chin was pressed into his chest, but he could carefully untie the rope from around his waist and retie it around his ankle, above the top of his hiking boot.  He had no idea if this was the right thing to do, but he just wanted to get as close to his brother as possible.  His head was spinning slightly, and he was getting out of breath.  John was right – there wasn't a lot of air down here.  They didn't have too much time.

            Satisfied that the knot around his ankle was secure, he slowly maneuvered until he was lying face down on his stomach.  He began crawling forward, his right arm extended in front of him.

            "What are you doing?" John said, right as Scott's fingertips brushed his face.  He jumped and sucked his breath in sharply.

            "Is that you?" Scott asked.

            "No, it's one of the fifteen other people stuck down here with me."

            Scott began waving his arm around until he found John's shoulder and then his arm.  He gripped it tightly.  "Okay?"

             "Yeah," John said.  Having Scott down here, something solid and real in the darkness, made him feel immeasurably better.  Sometimes, at school, John felt invisible beside his brother, who was simply and miraculously at complete ease with himself and anyone who came in contact with him.  It was a personality trait so lacking in John that sometimes he shared in the common surprise of the other students when they found that the reason he and Scott had the same last name was because they were related.   Usually, John didn't care too much about that – anonymity had its own subversive rewards – but he had been thinking it would be relatively easy for him to slip further down, to swallowed up by this oppressive blackness.   The problem with being an observer, he realized, is that nothing changes if you're not there to watch.  Unless you were a subatomic particle.  But, with Scott here, he felt almost safe.  Scott was just too invested in his own life to disappear.

            The two of them hung there for a moment, not saying anything.   

            "So…" John said.  "How's it going?"

            Scott started to chuckle.  "I'm having a blast.  You?"

            "You know, Dad's going to crucify me.  First the roof, and now this?  I'm not going to see the light of day until I'm twenty."

            "Maybe he won't find out."

            "Like you can lie to him.  Can you grab my other arm?"

            Scott stretched out his other arm and hit John in the face, judging by the yelp.  "Sorry."

            John just growled.  

            Scott got a hold of his shoulder.  "You're not having a very good day, are you."

            John started laughing again.  "Don't make me laugh!  I can't hold on if I laugh!"

            "Shh…I got you.  Take a deep breath."

            "Of what?" John asked, but Scott had managed to calm him down.

            "John, do you think you can climb over me?" he asked.

            "What?"

            "Just…climb over me up to the rope.  I've got to get turned around before I get up and I don't think Virgil can pull us up."

            "Yeah…I can try." John sounded doubtful, and Scott raised his head and stared impatiently into the darkness.

            "Or we could just hang out here for a while," Scott said.  "Come on!  Get up here."

            "It's not that…it's just I don't have anything to push off of.  The pipe drops down here, and I'm half off it."

            Scott stared uncomprehending ahead of him.  The darkness was playing tricks on his eyes, making him see odd amorphous blurs of dark red and purple.  "What…what are you saying?"

            "Remember that vertical drop you warned me about?  Well, I found it."

            Scott just lay there with his mouth half open for a moment.  "When were you going to tell me?"

            "When we got up there," John said.

            "What the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

            "What would the point of it be?" John asked calmly.  "Either way, you knew I couldn't get out myself.  You wouldn't have done anything different, would you?"

            "You should have told me," Scott said.  "It's just…you should have told me!  That's what you _do_ in a situation like this." 

            "You know, just because you think something is the right thing to do doesn't mean it is." John told him.  

            Scott put his head down on the cold floor of the tunnel and groaned in exasperation. 


	11. Chapter Eleven

            Scott shook his head in disbelief.  "You have really warped priorities, you know that?" he bit out.  He tightened his grip on his brother and started trying to inch himself backwards.  He could feel John trying to squirm himself upwards.  "Stop moving," he said curtly.

            "I'm trying to help," John said.  He sounded short of breath.

            "You're making it hard to hold onto you."

            They both lay still for moment, breathing hard.

            "I'm getting sort of dizzy," Scott said.

            "Yeah," John said.  

            Scott closed his eyes and opened them again.  No difference.   Tendrils of panic began to push at his mind.  Being stuck down here for hours.  Slowly suffocating.    He couldn't let himself think like this.

            "You know what's weird?" John said.  "This is basically the complete opposite of outer space, but it's actually pretty similar.  Complete and total darkness.  No oxygen."

            "John…"

            "No stars, though.  But I am seeing all these cool patterns.  Like the patterns behind your eyelids, except my eyes are open.  Not that it makes a difference."

            "Shhh…" Scott said.  John was quiet for a moment.

            "How long do you think it would take for Dad to notice that we haven't come back?"

            "You mean to start worrying?  I don't know.  Not until dinnertime, probably." Scott said.  Hours.  The rest of the day.

            "I think you should go and get Dad," John said.

            "I'm not leaving you down here by yourself," Scott said.  He hear John let out his breath in exasperation.

            "It's either me down here with the chance of us getting rescued or both of us down here with no chance," John said.  "I vote for the first one."

            "Can you hold on that long?" Scott asked.

            "Sure," John said, but there was the briefest of hesitations.  Scott shook his head.

            "No way.  I'm not leaving you to die down here."

            John snorted.  "Don't be so dramatic.  I'm not going to die."     

            "You can't hold on for an hour or more," Scott told him.

            "What _is_ it with you?" John exploded.  "Just because you can't do something doesn't mean nobody else can do it!  If I have to hold on for five hours, I'll hold on!  And if you think I can't, then why didn't you do the smart thing and go get some help instead of coming down here thinking you're Superman or something?"  

            "Well excuse me for trying to save your stupid life!" 

            "Who's saved?"   John retorted.  "If you hadn't…Scott!"

            Scott could feel him lurch downward.  One shoulder slipped out of his grasp and he lunged his arm forward and grabbed a handful of John's hair.  John stopped sliding and Scott tightened the grip on his shoulder.  He could feel John trembling.

            "Okay," John whispered.  "I'm sorry."

            "Shh." Scott said.  "I got you."

            Tears were beginning to form at the corners of John's eyes.  He felt like his hair was being pulled out by the roots, but he was more worried about the fact that he was more over the bend of the pipe than on it.  He scrabbled his feet frantically on the pipe until he found the tiniest bit of purchase.  He began to try to push himself up, squeezing the air out of his lungs as he did so.  "Pull," he gritted out to Scott, who began pulling as hard as he dared.

            It was excruciating going.  John felt like he was moving a millimeter at a time, and it wasn't getting any easier to breathe.  His scalp was on fire.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear some echoes coming from above, indistinct and muddy.

            "What's that?"

            "Virgil," Scott said.  He sounded very far away.

            He was going to have to apologize to Virgil, John though dimly.  Or at least tell him that he had been right.  He'll like that.

            Suddenly, heard strange sound, a bit like ice cracking, and his foot seemed to sink into the pipe.  He had a foothold.  He put all of his weight on it and heaved himself upward, only then thinking that he probably should have tested it first, but then he was lying half on top of his brother, one knee on the floor of the tunnel.

            "Ow!" Scott's face smacked into the floor of the pipe.  He heard a crack somewhere inside his head.  He couldn't breathe.  He could feel various organs being squashed  as his brother scrambled incautiously over his back.  He raised his head and touched his face.  His head was spinning and his fingertips were wet.

            "Virgil, hold tight!" he could hear John calling, and the sounds of him moving away.  Well, hang on a second, he thought to himself confusedly.  _I'm_ still here.  His mouth tasted metallic and gritty.  He'd just rest a minute.  


	12. Chapter Twelve

            Virgil was having breathing trouble of his own.  He was sideways to the entrance of the tunnel, legs braced against the far wall, but the rope was cutting into his stomach, even as he pulled against the weight at the end.  It had suddenly doubled, cutting into his sore hands.  He knew it was a good sign, because it meant that John was on the line, but he was afraid that he was going to dislocate his shoulders if they didn't get up here soon.  

            He could hear someone coming up the pipe.  He took a painful breath.  "Scott…is John okay?"

            "John's fine," John said.  He was coming out of the tunnel so fast he collided with Virgil and knocked him to one side.  He didn't stop to apologize, just straddled him and began hauling on the rope.

            "Where's Scott?" Virgil asked, dazed.

            "Shut up and pull," John said.  Virgil wriggled out from under his brother and reached out to pull.  It was like dragging up an anchor, Virgil thought.  Dead weight.  The impact of that thought hit him and just as he was opening his mouth they heard Scott's voice call, "Stop!"

            They stopped.  They could feel him moving at the end of the rope, and then a pull as he started to climb up on his own.

            "He turned around," John told Virgil, who just stared at the opening, waiting.  In a few minutes they could feel their brother emerge from the tunnel.

            John had already turned around and was scrambling for the entrance. Scott and Virgil followed, and the three boys clambered out into the field.

            Scott shut his eyes against the sunlight.  Everything looked overexposed and flat, two-dimensional.  The heat of the day enveloped him like a pair of hands, but he was shivering slightly.  He could still felt the echo of the cold in limbs.  He slithered out of the tunnel and flipped over onto his back.

            Virgil's face appeared over his, concern etched on his features.  "You okay?  Your lip is bleeding."

            Scott licked his lips and tasted blood.  He blinked at Virgil for a moment.  "John stepped on me," he told him.

            Virgil drew his eyebrows together, and raised his head to look up for a moment, then returned his gaze to Scott.  "Maybe you should sit up?" he suggested, sounding unsure.

            Scott sat up, pulling his knees up.  He rested his forehead on his knees for a moment, hands gripping his hair.  He almost felt like crying.  Strange.   He tried to remember the last time he cried.  Not something he did often.  Alan used to cry if you so much as looked at him cross-eyed.  It was still pretty easy to make him.  Gordon was more of a screamer than a cryer.  Virgil wasn't.  Scott couldn't remember if John was or not.   He pulled his hands out of his hair, raised his head, and saw Virgil, palefaced, watching him. "Where's John?"

            Virgil just pointed.  Scott swiveled around.  John was standing about fifteen feet away, staring across the field, hugging his arms.  

            "Is he okay?" Virgil asked.

            Scott looked at Virgil, and then back down at his hand.  There were long blond strands of hair twined around his fingers.  That's right.  John didn't cry; he laughed.  Scott shuddered, and shook the hair off his hand violently. 

            Virgil decided he'd better see if John was all right, and walked over to him.

            John didn't look at him as he approached.  Virgil touched his arm lightly.  "Hey.  You okay?"

            John shook his head, but didn't look at him.  Virgil stood there uncertainly, not sure what to do.

            "What time is it?" John asked after a minute.

            Virgil looked at his watch.  "Quarter to three."

            John laughed a hard laugh at that.  Virgil could see he was trembling slightly.  He heard footsteps, and saw Scott walking towards them, looking more alert.

            "Hey," he said.  John turned to look at them both.  His face was streaked with dust and his eyes were very wide and a little glassy.  Scott put his hand on the back of his neck.  "Come on.  We should get home."

            They started walking towards the access road.  Virgil trailed a little ways behind them.  He realized they had left Scott's knapsack inside the tunnel, but decided not to say anything.  

            This is exactly how people die, Virgil thought.  Every movie or television show he had seen, plenty of deaths were undeserved, but none were unexpected. Usually there was music; if you were undeserving you got to say goodbye and a lot of people cried; if you were evil and wore enough leather you maybe got a one liner.  But it wasn't how it would happen, he thought.   It would be more like this:  three kids go out to do something maybe sort of dumb, but not criminal.  Three kids go out.  Two come home.  His grandmother had a funny little rant about the swarm of boys that invaded her house every summer; visitors were often surprised to find that there were so many of them.  But there weren't so many that one could be lost without completely destroying the landscape of all of their lives.  Part of how he saw himself was as a boy with four brothers.  Here was the type of question that John liked to ask:  if Virgil defined himself as a boy with four brothers, then if he became a boy with three brothers, would he still be Virgil?   

            All Virgil knew was, he wanted to kill both of his brothers for even making him think about this.

            He was distracted by the sight of John breaking off and running full tilt into the field off the road.  Scott stopped walking for a moment, and glanced back at Virgil, who trotted to catch up to him.

            "Should we chase him?" Virgil said.

            "I'm not sure," Scott said.  He thought again of the closed, cold air of the tunnel and felt his back muscles tense.  He kept picturing John sliding out of his grip and down into an unreachable blackness.  "I think he just feels like running."

            They watched him tearing across the field like a comet, until he suddenly dove to the ground.  Scott took a deep breath and headed across the field to find him.

            They found him on his back, staring at the sky.   "Hey," he said.  

            "Hey," Scott said.  

            John sought Virgil's gaze.  "You were right, you know."

            Virgil looked away.  

            "You can blame me," Scott said.  "It was my idea."

            John squinted against the sun.  "I don't want to blame anyone.  If I should blame anyone, I should blame me."

            "I sent you down the tunnel," Scott said.  John sat up.

            "You may have a hard time believing this, Scott, but it is possible to _not_ do what you say.  I know none of your friends at school have the ability, but a few of  your family members do."  He stood up.   "Anyone want to sleep outside tonight?"  

            "Dad'll make us take Alan and Gordon," Scott said.

            "Yeah, I know.  That's all right.  We can all stay out.  It'll be fun."

            Virgil stared at them.  "That's it?  Just…we go camping next?  It'll be _fun_?  Don't you…"

            John turned and walked away, leaving Virgil somewhat taken aback.  John didn't usually walk away from arguments.  He looked at his oldest brother, who gave Virgil a thoughtful look, and then turned to follow John.  Virgil stood there for a moment, deflated, and then followed his brothers home.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

            Virgil had lagged deliberately, submerged in a satisfying mix of sulking and skulking behind his brothers.   He hung out on the porch for a while after John and Scott had gone inside, waiting to see if there were any explosions from their father's study.  All remained quiet, so he assumed they had gotten upstairs safely.  Then he noticed Mr. Gates' racing green Jaguar was still crouched in the driveway, incongruous against the weather-stained clapboards of the old farmhouse.  His father would still be talking shop with that guy.  Virgil wandered over to the car, peering in the window.  Sometimes, the pain of not being able to drive was almost physical.   A lot of the kids around here learned to drive by the time they were thirteen – not legally, of course, but racing down old dirt roads or those eerie, abandoned planned communities – roads laid out in grids and culs-de-sac, perfect for laying rubber – with short driveways leading to an empty lot of dirt and scrub grass. ( It was what happened, his father said, when companies lied to their employees.)  Some of his summer friends could drive already, but no amount of begging and pleading could convince his father to let him behind the wheel of the car until the stupid state government said it was okay.  Scott had gotten his license in May, and was always volunteering to drive to the grocery store to get gas or pick up one of the brothers from somewhere – anything to get behind the wheel of their father's Mercedes.  Virgil went along sometimes, and Scott would always wind up taking a detour or two, cruising down the back roads with the windows rolled down and the hot, dry summer air whipping around them.  It didn't matter that there wasn't anywhere to go – the act of going was enough.   Scott had said that they should drive cross country.  "Ocean to ocean," he said.  Some summer, when they had the time – maybe after Scott's first year of college – they would go.  Virgil got enough time-zone crossing phone calls from his father to know that the world was pretty small these days, but he was standing next to a 1,000 acre wheat field.  There was enough of this country for two guys in a car.

            Or maybe Scott had meant for John to come along too.  Or maybe he was just trying to be nice, and didn't mean it at all.  

            Virgil found them in Scott's room.  Scott was flying his sim and John, somewhat oddly, was perched on top of John's dresser, staring out the top of the window.   Scott didn't turn his eyes away from the screen.  "Get a shower and put your clothes at the bottom of the hamper."

            John didn't even look at him.   Virgil looked down at himself, stained with the evidence, and then back at the two of them, seated so calmly and cleanly in the bedroom.  He felt a new surge of anger run through him.  He decided that he would have taken a shower anyway, and wasn't actually doing what Scott told him to do.

            When he was dressed again, he tried to read for a while, but finally slammed back into Scott's room.  His oldest brother was gone, however.  John was still on top of the dresser.

            "Where's Scott?"

            John didn't turn around.  "He went to talk to Father."

            "Why?"

            "Why do you think?"

            "He's going to tell him?"

            "Probably."

            "And you didn't try to stop him?"

            "Why would I do that?"  John sounded almost bored.  He often struck this note with Virgil, getting calmer as Virgil got angrier.  It drove Virgil crazy.

            "Dad's going to go ballistic," Virgil said.

            "I don't know.  Maybe."

            "John!  You could have died!  You think Dad will be _okay_ with it?"

            John turned, looking irritated.  "Why does everyone keep saying that?  I wasn't going to die."  
            "You don't know that," Virgil said.

            "I was there.  I think I would know.  Where were you?"

            "Up top hanging on to you two morons!  And now I'm going to get grounded until I'm ninety because you two knuckleheads decided to go spelunking in a sewer!" Virgil burst out.

            John started to retort, and then stopped.  "Knuckleheads?"

            "Whatever."  Virgil folded his arms across his chest.

            "I seriously doubt you're going to get grounded, if that's what you're worried about." John said, turning away again.  "Scott won't let that happen."

            "So you're going to let Dad blame Scott for everything while you just walk away…"  Virgil stopped.

            "Scott free?" John finished for him, a slight smile on his face. 

            "Shut _up_."  Virgil said between gritted teeth.

            "It's not up to me what Dad does, for one thing.  But you really think it's _Dad_ who…" John stopped, and looked at Virgil closely.  "You do, don't you."  He shook his head.  "You should really start paying attention to things," he told him.  "It's not that you don't notice things, it's just that you don't pay attention to the things you notice."

            "Don't talk to me like I'm Gordon or Alan," Virgil said.  "I'm going to be in your school in a month. I'm not five."

            "Have you ever heard anyone talk to Alan or Gordon like that?" John said.  He jumped off the dresser, landing lightly on the floor.  "Go and practice."

            "What?  No."  Virgil was slightly confused, and feeling obstinate.

            "Okay," John said, heading for the door.  "But it reminds him…you should do something he likes.  Seriously.  Go and practice."

            Virgil stood in the empty room for moment, listening to John walk down the stairs.  He felt off-balance, because he couldn't figure out if John had just insulted him or complimented him.  And why should he do John a favor by trying to placate their father?

            It wasn't until he heard Scott call for John to come into their father's study that he realized that John hadn't been talking about their father at all.  He stomped downstairs to practice.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

            "Is John hurt?  Is Virgil?"

            Scott stopped, looking surprised and slightly offended.  "No, Father.  He's fine – he's upstairs with Virgil.  They're both fine."

            It took all of Jeff Tracy's considerable self-restraint to call both of his boys down in front of him to make sure of this himself.  He nodded at Scott.  "All right, Scott.  Go on."

            Scott shifted in his chair.  It must be how snakes feel shedding their skin, Scott thought.  Agonizingly uncomfortable at the outset, but when you were finished…well, you were a new snake.  Which was probably good.  Scott continued doggedly with his story.   He really didn't want to do this, but he knew there was no way he would be able to look his father in the eye if he didn't tell him what happened.  And he also knew there was no way he could get away with not looking his father in the eye.

When Scott finished, Jeff sat back in his chair.  "Let me get this straight.  You and John heard about these pipes, planned to go exploring, and when John got in trouble, you and Virgil got him out."

            Scott looked down and to the side uncertainly.  That version hadn't really occurred to him, and it certainly wasn't what he expected his father to come out with.

            "I guess so," he said.     

            "And how was it that John got in trouble?"

            "I'm not really sure what happened," Scott said.  "John thinks the rope broke, but the knot could have been badly tied – he doesn't know and I don't…anyway, Virgil and I were up top and suddenly I realized that there was no pressure on the rope.  And before, I could really feel him. We tried to see if he could reach the rope but he couldn't.  So I tied the rope to me and Virgil and I went down to see if I could get him."

            "Why you?" his father asked.

            Scott looked surprised.  His father shook his head.  "I'm not trying to second-guess you.  I'm just curious as to why you decided to do what you did.  Virgil is smaller and lighter – it would make more sense to have him go down, wouldn't it?"

            Scott nodded.  "He was against the whole idea, and he was pretty scared.  I mean, he was fine, but…I thought it would be safer if I went down."

            "And John couldn't climb up by himself?"

            Scott shook his head.  "If he could have, he would have.  The tunnel was like this," he held his hand at a forty-five degree angle.  "He was afraid if he moved, he would lose his grip and slide further down."  He decided not to tell his father about the fact that John had been hanging over a vertical drop.  He suddenly understood what John meant when he said it didn't make a difference.  Anyway, that was John's side of the story; he would tell it.He looked at his father cautiously.  His father just looked thoughtful.

            "Call him, will you?"

            Jeff sat back in his chair as Scott rose and went to the door to yell for his brother.  He's so _tall_, Jeff thought.  Three years ago, his house had been filled with children.  Suddenly Scott – his earnest, lovely, serious son, was filling doorways with his frame and the house vibrated with the penetrating light baritone of his voice, trampling over the memory of the boy he had been only a few years before.   And  John – Jeff raised his eyes as his second son dragged himself into the study – when he left for school last September he had been Virgil's height, a cheerful chatter of nervous energy.  Now he was uncomfortably almost Scott's height, all bone and sinew with an almost permanent air of sullen detachment.  He wondered, as he had been doing quite a bit lately, if he had perhaps made a mistake in the way he had structured their lives – the boys away at school, the six of them all together only for the summer and holidays.   Ever since Scott had complained that his first grade teacher was trying to teach him that he didn't already know how to read, Jeff had made the education of his boys a top priority.  He also knew that a sharp mind would not be content with boredom, and after hearing the stories of some of his colleagues' children, he knew how dangerous the combination of wealth and boredom could be.  But soon Scott would be in college – and the others would be flying off from him before he knew it.  There were no other people on the planet that he would rather spend time with then his five boys – how had it come about that they spent so little time together?

            "Sit down, John."

            John reluctantly sat down on the chair next to the one Scott has just vacated, on the other side of their father's desk.  Jeff looked at him for minute, and then rose and walked over to the couch that ran along the back wall, between the two floor-to-ceiling bookcases.  

            "Come over here, boys."

            They both glanced at each other, and then walked over to join their father on the couch.

            "So…Scott tells me you boys had quite a day."

            "Yes sir." John said, not meeting his eyes.

            "Do you want to tell me about it?" Jeff asked him.  

            "If Scott told you about it, I don't know if I could add anything that matters," John said quietly.

            "John…"  Jeff started, then stopped.  He looked at the two of them, sitting straight up on the couch.  He was often commended on the politeness of his sons.  He always thanked whomever mentioned it, but he knew that it wasn't always motivated by a desire to actually be polite.  At his wife's wake, Scott and John had sidled up to him.  "People keep telling us that they're sorry," Scott had said.  "What are we supposed to say?"

            "Just say thank you.  You don't have to say any more than that." Jeff had told them.   And they had, stiff like little soldiers, gravely thanking all the grownups who told them they were sorry that their mother had died.  They all learned young that proper form was an excellent place to hide.

            "Tell me," Jeff said.  "Why didn't you call for help?"

            "I  didn't bring the cell," Scott said, slightly dully.  This was an old argument – Jeff insisting that he needed to be able to get in touch with them at any time, and the boys conveniently forgetting the means to that happening.  

            "Do you see why…"

            "Yes, Father."  Scott interrupted, and then stopped.  "I'm sorry.  But I do.  I…" 

            "Scott couldn't just have Virgil go and get someone," John jumped in.  "Scott needed Virgil to hold the rope to come down and get me…if Scott had come down by himself it just would have been the two of us stuck in there, after all."

            Through the door of the study, they could hear the sound of a piano.  Virgil was running through scales.  

            "But John, there are professional people who do this for a living," Jeff said.  "Or, something like it.  Didn't you think it would be wiser to get help?"

            "Yes," Scott said.  "I should have."

            John glanced at Scott.  "I don't know, Father.  It's a bit different when you're actually there.  I would have done the same thing Scott had, I think."

            "We didn't know how much time we had.  And John might have fallen."

            "I wasn't really going to fall." John said, a trifle touchily.

            "John was less worried about that," Scott said, sounding annoyed.   "But he was hanging over this precipice…"

            "It wasn't a _precipice_," John said.  "It was a bend in the pipe.  It probably only dropped down a few feet.  But I really didn't want to chance it to find out."

            Scott remembered he hadn't meant to let that slip.  "We should have checked the pipe before we went down.  I should have."

            "I _was_ checking the pipe," John cut in.  "Sort of.  Anyway, Scott didn't even know about the whole precipice thing until he got down there."

            Jeff looked confused.  "Why not?"

            John shrugged.  "I knew Virgil would…well, I was afraid Virgil would just…he didn't need to know.  He didn't even want to go inside.  We were…he was right, as it turned out."

            "Yeah…he's still pretty shaken up," Scott said.

            "He's really angry at me," John said, more to Scott than their father.

            "None of this was Virgil's fault, Father." Scott said.

            Jeff sat back, listening.  They were so careful to cover each other, to keep each other safe.  Scott would try to take all the blame himself, and John was trying to cover as many bases as possible.  If his being away so much had distanced him somewhat from his sons, the opposite had happened between his boys.  

            "And you?" Jeff asked.

            They both stopped.  In the other room, Virgil rumbled around the bottom of the scales, paused, and began chord progressions. 

            "You two don't seem very shaken up." Jeff said.

            John looked down.  Scott bit his lip.  

            "There's no shame in…" Jeff started, but Scott interrupted him.

            "I'm not ashamed.  That's not it.  I was scared…for a moment there I really thought…"

            "Yeah, so did I," John said.   He took a deep breath.  "You don't…really realize how easy it is for something like that to happen to you.   How…killable you are."

            "I've always found you pretty killable," Scott told him.

            John didn't rise to it, intent on his point.  "I mean that you're – _I'm_ – nothing special.  That nobody is.  Just because I'm me and you all would _miss_ me doesn't mean that I couldn't suffocate in a pipe somewhere or get hit by a bus or eaten by a shark…"  he stopped and looked at his father, smiling nervously.  "I had just never thought about it before."

            Scott was shaking his head.  "I wasn't thinking anything like that.  I just wanted to get you out of there."

            "Yeah.  I'm glad you did.  Holding on was…" John stopped, a troubled expression on his face.

            Scott looked at him for a moment.  "You wouldn't have let go, you know," he told him.  John only shrugged slightly, still looking uncomfortable.

            Jeff sat back.  "What do you think the consequences of your actions should be?" he asked.

            Scott looked down, but John just looked puzzled.  "Hasn't that already happened?"

            "He means how should we be punished," Scott told him, with a slight roll of his eyes.  He shook his head for a moment, and then looked at his father.  "I think I should call the fire department or the town council and tell them that that pipe is there and that they should fill in the entrance because some people were exploring in there and might have gotten hurt."

            "That's a good idea," Jeff said.  "Anything else?"

            The two boys exchanged glances, and Scott shrugged almost imperceptibly.

            "Dad, whatever you decide, that's fine…" John said.  "I mean, if you want to ground me and Scott and keep us inside I know we deserve it but…it's not going to be a punishment.  I mean, it's not going to compare.  If exploring the pipe was the crime, I had the punishment.  So did Scott."

            "What do you think about that, Scott?"

            Scott sighed inwardly.  His father did this all the time – made them weigh in on their own punishment – and it drove all of them nuts.  On the other hand, he thought John had a pretty valid point.  They had done something that had almost gotten John killed, with the possibility of himself being casualty number two.  Honestly, being grounded sounded like a welcome reprieve.  

            "I understand what he's trying to say, but I see how you might not see it that way."

            Jeff was impressed in spite of himself – that was more diplomatic than he expected.  "Don't worry, Scott.  I know you're not trying to get out of anything."  He looked at them.   "But I'm not so sure the fact that the two of you nearly scared yourselves to death is a reason for you not to face the consequences of your actions.  Today you ignored the basic fact that there is a line from action to consequence, and you can't ignore it simply because you think you know what you're doing."

            John ducked his head, but Scott kept looking steadily at his father.  Jeff continued.

            "You were brave today, Scott.  I'm sure you're aware of that.  In a sense, I'm proud of you because all of you kept your heads, and you worked together – and because of that, you're all safe and sitting here talking to me.  But you wouldn't have to have been brave if you had used your judgment – your _better_ judgment – in the first place.  Frankly, Scott, I'm surprised at you.  You're usually much smarter than this."

            John looked up.  "It was both of our judgment, Father," he said.

            "I didn't say I was surprised at you, John." Jeff said.  

            John looked down, stung.  Jeff regarded him for a moment.  "You need to learn to keep your head.  And we still have the matter of this morning to discuss."

            John raised his fingertips to the scar on his mouth.  "I had forgotten about it," he said, almost absently.

            "We'll talk about it later," Jeff said.  "Scott, do you understand what I'm trying to say to you?"

            Scott nodded.  

            Their father let out a sigh.  "I would appreciate it, in the future, if you would not try quite so hard to kill yourselves.  The next time Virgil points out that you're doing something that is foolhardy, please listen to him.  And the next time you find yourself doing something that you know is dangerous, as I expect you both did, _stop_."

            "I'm sorry, Father," John said.  Scott said nothing.

            "I know you are, son.  And I'm glad you're all right.  Now let me finish up a few things here.."

            The boys looked at each other, and then back at their father.

            "You're free to go," Jeff said dryly.  John darted out of the room like a fish, but Scott stayed on the couch.  Jeff looked at him affectionately.  He had expected this.

            "Something on your mind, son?"

            Scott dragged the toe of one sneaker along the rug under the couch.  "I wasn't brave, Father.  I was stupid.  I had John by the _hair_.  We had no idea how high that dropoff was.  He could have gotten trapped."

            "But he didn't."

            "But he could have."

            "All right.  But he didn't."

            "But he could have!" Scott burst out.  "I'm not supposed to let stuff like that happen!  I'm supposed to be the reason things like that don't happen!"  He looked up at his father.  "Father, it was so dark in there, and John kept laughing – you know how he does when he's upset about something – and it was cold, and there wasn't any air, and all I kept thinking about was having to come back and tell you that…" he stopped, and curled his hands into fists.   "I never should have…you said there's a line from action to consequence, and you're right:  me.  I'm the line."

            Jeff sat back down next to his son.   Scott didn't look at him. 

            "Scott," Jeff said.  "There is a difference between looking after somebody, and taking responsibility for their actions.  I certainly never expect you to…"

            "But what about _my_ actions?" Scott cut him off.  "John could have died."

            There was a pause, and dimly, from somewhere else in the house, they could hear John bellowing, "_I was not going to die!_"

            Scott opened his mouth, but his father stopped him.  "Son, one of the great contradictions of authority is the more responsibility you hold, the more you have to let go.  I've always tried to let you boys make your own decisions as much as possible, because I never wanted the five of you to grow up to be the kind of men who can't make decisions when they need to be made, who can't think for themselves.  Every time I see you, I see that you're turning into someone who other people can depend on.  Your brothers trust you.  I trust you." 

            "I don't know," Scott said.  "I don't feel very trustworthy at the moment."

            Jeff put his hand on his son's shoulder.  "Scott, you do too good a job of punishing yourself for these types of things.  You can't let the fact that you made one bad decision make you think you don't have the ability to make decisions.  I'm not laboring under the impression that you're perfect.  You did something that was reckless, but when it came to a crisis, you proved you can rely on yourself and your brothers.  We both know you didn't show good judgment going down those pipes – but once the wheels came off the wagon, you made decisions, you acted, you kept the three of you together."

            "That doesn't seem like it's good enough," Scott said.

            "It's going to have to be." Jeff said.  "For now.  Pretty soon, you're going to be away at college and they're not going to have you around to look after them.  And when they do well, you'll know what I mean."

            Scott was a little confused by that, but he nodded anyway.  

            "Now let me finish up here."

            Jeff sat back after his oldest had gone.  Seventeen years old was a long time to carry the world on your shoulders by yourself.  

            Scott leaned in the doorway of the sunroom, where the old upright piano was kept.  Virgil was submerged in some piece of music or other – all classical music sounded pretty much the same to Scott, especially when it was played on the piano.  He liked to noodle around on the piano a bit – they all did – but Virgil was the only one who continued to take lessons.  Belatedly, Scott realized that Virgil was playing pretty well.  If a little stormily.

            "You still mad at me?" he asked Virgil.  

            "Yes," Virgil said shortly, after a minute.  He couldn't talk and play at the same time.

            "Okay," Scott said.  "Let me know when you're not."

            Virgil just drew his eyebrows further together and played more emphatically.

            Scott turned away.  Maybe his father was right, and this was how it would be.  Virgil would slip away into music, John into astronomy or astrophysics or whatever, and he'd be chasing the sound barrier in the thin air somewhere.  He'd be in college in a year, flying faster than all of them.  With a slight start, he realized it would be the first time he would be at an academic institution without at least one Tracy since he was twelve.

            Weird.  He pushed open the screen door and walked out to the backyard.  Well, he was sure John could look after Virgil, and occasionally the other way around, when John needed someone to beat up.  And Gordon and Alan – well, they were kids.  Still, he was amazed that he had never really thought about it, about them all splitting up.  He had always figured he'd grow up and be on his own, but it was hard to picture himself without the massive throng of his family around.  

            He looked up and saw John sitting serenely on the roof, watching him.

            "You can't leave it just for one day, can you," Scott said.  

            "I'm fine when I'm up here," John told him.  "It's when I jump off that there are problems.  So I don't jump off, and there aren't any problems."

            Scott picked up a rock and threw it out past the fence and into the field behind the house.  "So, you going to talk to Dad about that school?"

            "Well, not today."  

            "Don't you have to let them know now?  School starts in a month or so."

            "I actually thought I'd wait.  See, there's this program that I applied to at the school in New York – I could take classes at Columbia.  But it's only open to seniors, so I'd have to wait a year."

            "When do you hear?"

            "A week ago.  I got in.  I just have to ask Dad if it's okay."

            "You'd live in New York?"

            "Yep.  At the school, though.  It wouldn't be much different from Greene, probably."

            "So why go all the way across the country?"

            "It's _Columbia_, Scott."

            "Yeah, okay, but…New York.  It's so big."

            John shrugged.  "So is this."  He gestured to the miles of open fields around them.  

            Scott snorted.  "Well, good luck talking to him.  New York is pretty far away."  He thought for a moment.  "On the other hand, no place is really that far away when your father thinks Mach 2 is for people who aren't trying hard enough."

            John laughed a little.  "I'm not so sure I can convince him of that.  I'm going to try though.  I really want to go."

            "I noticed that," Scott said.

            "So, what's wrong with that?" John said touchily.  Scott just shook his head, and climbed up on the top of the tire swing.  

            "Of course, Columbia is a pretty good school," Scott said.  "Maybe I should make it a safety."

            John gave Scott a look of such hostility that Scott burst out laughing.  "My God, you are paranoid!  Are you going to start building bombs or something?"

            "Go find your own college," John said.  He seemed to be trying to keep the emotion out of his voice, but Scott could tell that he meant it.  "Man, if I were you…I'd go to school in France or something.  England.  Guam."

            "Guam…" Scott said.  He wasn't really listening.  The fact that John wanted to get away so badly stung him a little – and made him wonder if he shouldn't feel the same way.   "What do you think is going to happen when we all graduate from college?"

            John stared at him for moment.  "For starters, by the time Alan graduates – if any college will even take him – you'll be almost thirty."

            Scott thought about that for a moment.  "So what do you think we'll all be doing?"

            John made an exasperated sound.  "How should I know?  You'll be a superhero.  I'll be holed up in an observatory in the Australian outback with a bunch of other freaks.  Virgil will be in the CIA.  Alan will be burying bodies in the back yard.  I don't know."

            "Don't you think it will be weird?  Not being…not that I care, you know.  But like, seeing Alan once a year or something.  Not being around each other, at all."

            "Not seeing _Alan_?"

            "Okay," Scott conceded.  "Not seeing Virgil."

            John considered this for a moment.  "I don't know.  You know Dad.  Tracy Industries casts a wide net.  None of us might get away at all."  He stood up.  "But you know, you'll probably get time off from defending the poor and helping the helpless.  And Alan will get paroled eventually.  And anyway – Dad's never around,  but it doesn't really seem like it.  It might not be any different for the rest of us.  I mean, there's distance, and then there's distance."  He started walking to the edge of the roof.

            "Knock it off,"  Scott said.  "I'm tired of explaining you to Dad."

            John windmilled his arms for a moment, pretending to lose his balance, and then stopped and smiled.  "Come around the back.  I'll show you how to get up.  You know, so you can feel useful if I fall."


End file.
